


Holly at Hogwarts, Lost and Found

by Forest_of_Holly



Series: Holly at Hogwarts [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 198,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forest_of_Holly/pseuds/Forest_of_Holly
Summary: Harry Potter doesn't recognize the old lady at Kings Cross station but she insists she knows him and wants him to find her missing family...  And so another year at Hogwarts begins.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amanda Alice](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Amanda+Alice).



          “What do you mean you’ve never explored the cellars!” exclaimed Anthony Richards in disbelief as he stepped carefully down a steep flight of stairs. The steps were filthy and covered in dust.  
           “I just haven’t,” replied Scorpius Malfoy matter-of-factly. The two boys were in the Malfoy mansion. Scorpius’s parents were on a business trip in Europe and couldn’t take their children along. Scorpius and Ivy had been sent to stay with his grandparents for the duration. Ivy was Scorpius’s little sister. She was twelve and an annoying pain. Scorpius wanted nothing to do with her. As his grandparents were rather stuffy and he would have been stuck alone with Ivy, Scorpius invited Anthony along...  
           Ivy had whined about not having a friend of her own visiting so grandmum had taken Ivy on numerous shopping trips to compensate. It was during one of those shopping trips that Scorpius finally found the time to do a bit of exploring of his own with Anthony...  
           Scorpius held a burning torch high in one hand and led the way going down the steep stairs. His shoes left black footprints on the steps marring the otherwise even layer of dust. “The doors are always locked,” he told Anthony, “but I think I’ve figured out a way in,” he continued coming to a stop in front of a heavy door. Anthony took another step forward and stopped next to Scorpius.  
           “Alohomora works really well,” replied Anthony dryly while staring at the heavy door in front of them. It looked cold and forbidding.  
           “Not grandfather’s locks,” retorted Scorpius. “He has them locked, double locked maybe even triple locked for all I know! Nothing I’ve tried so far has worked and he always uses silent spells to unlock things when I’m around.” Scorpius set the lit torch in a nearby wall holder as he spoke.  
           “So what are you going to do?” asked Anthony with interest.  
           “This!” came the reply. Scorpius pulled out a small squirming oval bundle from beneath the folds of his robe. It was about thirty centimeters long wrapped in dark cloth and, judging from the way it moved, alive! Scorpius pulled back one edge of the cloth and revealed a perfectly formed tiny head with glittering eyes, brown hair and pointy ears.  
           “What’s that?” asked Anthony while privately wondering if you could shrink someone that small and still keep the person alive.  
           “This is a Brownie!” answered Scorpius with pride.  
           “Really?” asked Anthony with interest. He’d never seen a Brownie before. “Where’d you get a Brownie?” he asked while peering closer at the tiny head. The Brownie made no sound but Anthony could make out a very angry expression on its face.  
           “They’re all around here, if you know where to look,” answered Scorpius confidently. “Catching them is the trick. Really slippery little fellows!”  
           “How’d you catch it?”  
           “I cast a disallusionment spell on a brownie cage so he wouldn’t see it,” began Scorpius, “then I put Grandfather’s best jacket in it.”  
           “Jacket?”  
           “Yeah. I put a treacle spell on the jacket. The brownie slowed down as soon as he touched the jacket and I was able to spring the trap before he got out!”  
           “Wow! I didn’t know brownies liked clothes!” commented Anthony admiringly.  
           “I don’t know what they like,” admitted Scorpius, “but I know they clean; the jacket was in the middle of the floor so the brownie tried to put it away…”  
           “Brownies clean?” questioned Anthony. He’d never given much thought to brownies before.  
           “Course they do!” exclaimed Scorpius. “They do all the cleaning here.”  
           “Really? I thought you had house elves to do all that.”  
           “Naw,” replied Scorpius. “Grandfather says that house elves can’t be trusted; they have brownies do all the work instead.”  
           “Even the cooking?” asked Anthony, amazed.  
           “Yep, except brownies don’t like to come out in the daytime so they do all the cooking during the night and pre-set the tables with the food and dishes ready for us to eat during the day before we get up in the morning.”  
           “Really?”  
           “Yeah. That’s why we eat breakfast in the kitchen, lunch in the dining room, tea in the parlor and dinner in the dining room after dark.”  
          “Oh. So what do brownies have to do with locks?”  
          “Well, brownies get in and out of everywhere to clean,” reasoned Scorpius, “I’ve locked the door to my room hundreds of times only to find the interior spotless later so I figure they can get us in here as well.”  
          “O.K. but if they’re house brownies, why don’t you just order them to open it up?” questioned Anthony.  
           “Can’t,” replied Scorpius succinctly. “They only obey Grandfather and Grandmum. I already tried,” he added as an aside. “But they hate being underground so I figure I can get this one to cooperate. That’s right,” he added turning his attention to the brownie. “Like I told you before, you open this door and I’ll let you go,” he promised, “or I’m gonna leave you down here at the door all tied up in the cold and dark where your friends will never find you...” The brownie squirmed vigorously trying to get loose. It stopped and seemed to glare at Scorpius. “Of course I’ll let you go afterwards,” he assured the brownie. The brownie continued to glare at Scorpius. “Why would I want to keep you?” he asked logically.  
           “Take him to Hogwarts to show the other students?” murmured Anthony certain no one else had seen a real brownie.  
           “Of course I wouldn’t do that,” assured Scorpius loudly talking to both Anthony and the brownie. “That would kill him,” he informed Anthony. “They’re house-bound,” Scorpius explained. “They leave the house and they turn to dust. I tried that with the last one I caught,” he added. “Grandfather found out and I was in very big trouble for the longest time. He doesn’t like me messing with his brownies.”  
           “You think he won’t find out about this?” questioned Anthony worriedly. Scorpius’ Grandfather was reputed to have dealt with You-Know-Who. It didn’t seem a good idea to anger him…  
           “Naw,” assured Scorpius confidently. “Then the brownie would have to admit he opened a door he shouldn’t have… So are you going to open it or do I leave you here in the dark?” he asked the brownie. The brownie struggled furiously for a full minute before going still. Then he stared again at Scorpius. Anthony couldn’t hear anything but he was fairly certain the two were communicating somehow when Scorpius said impatiently, “Yes, I promise I’ll let you go.”  
           Then the brownie turned its head and stared at the door. Suddenly the door swung open with a loud creak. A blast of cold air seemed to stream out hitting Anthony in the face. It smelled wet and musty. Scorpius smiled with satisfaction. “See!” he told the brownie confidently, “I knew you could do it!” Then Scorpius threw the cloth back over the brownie’s head, completely rewrapped it and returned the bundled brownie to someplace under the folds of his robes.  
           “Aren’t you going to release him?” questioned Anthony.  
           “Course,” replied Scorpius. “Just as soon as I make sure it doesn’t double-cross me somehow like locking me in afterwards or something… Come on!” he added eagerly. “Let’s see what’s inside.” He drew his wand and pulled the door open wider. Anthony drew his own wand out, grabbed the torch off the wall for light, and cautiously followed Scorpius as he stepped over the threshold…  
Beyond the door seemed to be nothing but a tiny stone cellar with a low ceiling. The floor looked grimy and dirty, the walls wet and shiny. It was empty except for a small jug in one corner.  
           “Well, this is a bit of surprise,” commented Scorpius with disappointment.  
           “What’d you expect?” questioned Anthony as he walked further into the room. He reached the wall, extended a finger and touched the wall experimentally—it felt cold, damp and slimy.  
           “Grandfather’s old potion room or something,” answered Scorpius circling the perimeter of the room disappointedly, “you know, something from the days of You-Know-Who?” He paused momentarily and turned towards Anthony, “Grandfather was a huge supporter of him before the Battle of Hogwarts, you know —not that he would ever admit to it. But that’s what everyone else says. Old habits die hard,” Scorpius added confidently. “There’s got to be stuff left over from those days, somewhere…”  
           Scorpius resumed his walking and said, “I figured any place locked up this tight had to have something valuable or illegal inside.” He reached the edge of the room. Using his foot, he kicked the jug in the corner causing it to tip and fall to one side. It fell with a “clang!” The noise seemed to echo loudly in the room. Anthony instinctively tightened his grip on his wand and looked fearfully about, afraid someone had heard the noise.  
           “Oh well,” Scorpius sighed. “Come on,” he added with renewed energy. “Let’s get out of here and find something else to do.” He turned and headed for the door.  
           Anthony turned to follow. Wait! What was that? Was that a flash of silver he had just seen out of the corner of his eye? It was just a momentary speck of brightness behind the jug; Anthony was certain his flickering torch had merely reflected off a small granular bit of trash, most likely a piece of broken glass. But he decided to check it out anyway…

**********

          The thick liquid fell off the spoon and landed on the tongue near the back of her throat. The fiery taste resembling a red pepper sauce immediately caused Paige Brenna Crowley to gag. She continued to gag as the liquid flowed down her throat and she stifled her urges to vomit. The gagging sensation continued for several minutes before finally subsiding. Then she waited. Nothing!  
           “Damn!” she thought to herself in frustration. “It didn’t work!” What kind of a Potions Master could she be if she couldn’t heal a simple headache! She had already tried the standard potions; this was her sixth new concoction and there was still no relief from the incessant pounding. Well, that wasn’t exactly true; walking helped, but she couldn’t imagine advising a client in pain to just “walk.” Even that wasn’t a permanent solution because the persistent pounding always seemed to return.  
           “You’re a failure!” came a voice from behind Paige echoing her own private sentiments at the moment. Paige turned and saw Anthony standing in the doorway staring at her. As usual, she said nothing but stared back without expression. That didn’t seem to bother Anthony, probably because he was used to her silent ways. “Your potions are a disaster,” he continued coldly, “and you can’t even manage a shop without blowing it up,” he added cuttingly.  
Paige wordlessly corked the potion bottle in front of her, placed the potion and equipment back in her bag and closed it.  
           “You’re an embarrassment!” continued Anthony as Paige said a silent locking spell to secure it from prying hands. “Tom deserves better than you!” he concluded while Paige added an aversion spell to her bag. “We all do!”  
           Paige set the bag beside her bed and straightened. “I’m going out now,” she told him coolly, a silent hint that he leave her room. Anthony obliged by stepping back and aside to let her pass. Paige stepped outside and closed the door to her room while Anthony watched. He followed Paige as she walked to the front door and opened it. “Don’t come back!” Anthony ordered as she stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her.

**********

          The fresh air provided welcome relief easing the pain of her headache. “Maybe I should try freezing elements in my next potion,” mused Paige Crowley as she walked down the path.  
           When the pounding receded to more manageable levels she turned her attention to Anthony. Paige hadn’t noticed his arrival in her room. How long had he been there? Had he watched her mix and take the potion, arrived while she was gagging or come after? She didn’t know. In fact, hadn’t she closed and locked the door to her room before trying the new potion? How had Anthony opened it? This was not good. None of it! She needed to improve her security spells, especially if a 5th year could get through them! More importantly, she needed to be more observant of her surroundings at all times no matter how she felt. What if Anthony had been a Dark Wizard sneaking up on her?  
           Anthony hadn’t said anything when she and Tom had announced their engagement. But he hadn’t looked upset, either. His comments today had been uncharacteristically strong; he had never before shown such disapproval of her. Paige wondered, “Why now?” but had no answer. Perhaps it was something the Malfoys had said… She hadn’t thought they were the kind to support or believe the rumors circulated by Umbridge, but maybe…

**********

          Three hours later Paige returned to the house having finally shaken off the last vestiges of the headache. She stopped when she saw her fiancé Tom standing in the open doorway.  
           “There you are!” Tom greeted. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”  
           “Oh?” questioned Paige softly while moving up closer. She had been in the garden and if Tom had really been looking for her, she would have been easy enough to find. Tom did not hold out his arms for their usual reunion embrace, which made Paige feel distinctly uncomfortable. Something was wrong. Beyond Tom, within the entryway Paige saw Anthony leaning up against the wall, watching.  
           “Yeah, I’ve decided to stay here,” Tom announced importantly.  
           “You have?” Paige carefully kept emotion out of her voice despite the surprise she felt. Tom couldn’t wait to “leave the nest” when the two first got that flat in London the previous year. They had only come to Tom’s family residence when they heard Anthony was taking a week at the Malfoys. Anthony and Paige already knew each other so Tom had thought it would be a good time for Paige to get to know her future in-laws and they her without distractions. The visit had gone well—until the headaches had started.  
           “But what about Switzerland?” Paige questioned softly. The plan had been to go to Europe to pick out a ring once Anthony returned but Tom just hadn’t been ready to leave somehow finding numerous excuses to remain a bit longer and now this…  
           “What about it?” replied Tom airily. “Family is much more important than some stupid ring.” His eyes seemed to narrow as if daring her to challenge the statement he had just made. Paige didn’t. “But you can go, if you wish,” Tom added coolly. “You’re not family,” he informed her bluntly ignoring or forgetting the future ties a wedding would create. “I’ll even help you pack,” he offered generously.  
           Paige looked at him in disbelief. It was a definite invitation to leave, almost an order. She looked beyond Tom and saw Anthony still leaning against the wall watching them. He had a smug smile on his face. Was this Anthony’s doing? How? Why? Paige had a sudden hunch that if she left for Europe alone the wedding would be called off and if she tried to force the issue and persuade Tom to come with her, the wedding would be called off even sooner. Did she want that? Was she ready for such a drastic move?  
           Paige put her arms around Tom, an action he did not return. “Why would I wish to leave?” she questioned mildly. “As you say, it’s only a ring and family is imminently more important than that.” More or less—given what had happened in the last two years, Paige wouldn’t trust her own family farther than she could throw a stone and even that was questionable. Tom’s parents had seemed nice enough, but you never could tell… And then there was Anthony. His smug smile had turned into an angry scowl at her words.  
           “Terrific,” said Tom without enthusiasm making Paige think he had definitely wanted her to leave without him. Tom pulled Paige’s arms away from his body and said, “Let’s go inside for dinner.” He turned and retreated into the house. Paige followed already questioning her decision to remain.  
           “Damn!” she said to herself as she walked. “The headache’s back!”


	2. Kings Cross Station

          Harry Potter noticed the thin old lady with the long neck wearing an ugly pink flowered dress holding a matching fat purse standing against the wall at Kings Cross Station while he and his family were on their way to the Hogwarts express. He didn’t recognize her, so she was probably not wizard and so of no importance. However, unlike the other people bustling to and from the station, she just stood there watching, “Watching for what?” Harry idly wondered as he pushed Lily’s cart filled with bags and school supplies. Standing where she did the old lady couldn’t help but notice the people going to the 9¾ platform that led to the Hogwarts Express station. But it was no big deal; the Ministry was always on the look-out for the stray Muggle who saw something he/she shouldn’t have and would no doubt take care of the lady should she become a problem.  
           Harry slowed his cart to a stop getting ready to run it through the invisible gate to platform 9¾. Ginny and Lily stopped as well; Albus and James, pushing their own carts, took a few more steps drawing even with the family before stopping as well. It was James’ last year at Hogwarts. How had the years gone by so quickly? It seemed as if it were only yesterday Harry was worrying about what House James would be sorted into…  
           Suddenly he heard a shrill voice screech, “What have you done with my family Harry?”  
           Harry mentally “jumped” at the sound of his name and turned to see who else was named “Harry” and was the victim of such an accusation.  
           “Bring them back now!” the shrill voice continued. Its source was that old lady in the pink flower dress who was rapidly making her way towards … _him???_  
           Harry quickly turned to Ginny and murmured, “You go on ahead and I’ll catch up later,” knowing that all eyes were on this very loud lady. If he headed her off into another direction, onlookers would never see the family go through the gate.  
           Ginny nodded. “Come on,” she said grabbing Lilly’s cart and pushing it forward.  
           Harry moved swiftly towards the old lady further separating himself from the family giving Ginny a better chance to leave with the children unnoticed. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person,” he told the lady loudly. “I’ve never met you before in my life and I certainly know nothing about your family.”  
           “How _dare_ you pretend ignorance, Harry James Potter, you ungrateful wretch!” the old lady spat angrily. “I’m your aunt, as you well know!”  
           “Aunt?” repeated Harry faintly, reeling from the realization that the old lady knew his full name.  
           “Yes, your aunt!” she affirmed straightening and looking him directly in the eyes. “And _this_ is the way you repay me for taking you in after your parents died? Feigning ignorance?”  
           “Uh—” Harry had no idea what to say. Certainly he was raised by someone else after his parents had died, but at the moment, he couldn’t remember who…  
           “We raised you,” the lady continued in a righteous rant, “put up with your nonsense even let you go to that, that _school_ of yours!!!”  
           There was no doubt in Harry’s mind _what_ school she meant. How did she know such things if she were a total stranger?  
           “And when your friends made us start a new life while you went off to fight Lord Voldemort,”  
           _(Voldemort!!? How could she know about him!!!?)_  
           “I thought that would be the end of—”  
           “Who are you?” demanded Harry suddenly. He didn’t know her but the lady clearly knew details about his life that would indicate she knew him…  
           “I told you! I’m your Aunt Violet!” The lady replied impatiently, “and I want to know what happened to my boy and his family!”  
           “Violet?” questioned Harry in confusion. The name was totally unfamiliar.  
           The lady sputtered a bit, “Oh, all right,” she said in frustration. She reached into her purse, rummaged around a bit and pulled out what appeared to be a packet of flower seeds. She held up the packet and said, “I’m your aunt—” She waved the seed packet under Harry’s nose. Harry looked from her to it in confusion.  
           “Petunias?” he questioned looking back at the lady.  
           “That’s it!” the lady said approvingly. “I’m your aunt—” and she shook the seed pack again expectantly.  
           “Petunias,” Harry filled without really understanding.  
           “Yes,” agreed the lady “only without the “s.”  
           “Petunia,” repeated Harry dutifully, but the name still meant nothing to him.  
           “That’s right,” agreed the lady. “Your people changed it to Violet and I haven’t been able to say my real name ever since!” she muttered in annoyance, “but I don’t care about that! What I care about is my son and his family!”  
           “They’re missing?” guessed Harry remembering what she had said earlier.  
           “That’s right and I want them back!”  
           “But why come to me?” questioned Harry. “I don’t know you,” he reiterated, “don’t know them and certainly haven’t done anything to them!”  
           “Don’t bother trying to deny it,” insisted the lady. “I know all about Holly and that, that _school_ of yours—you’ve been seeing Dillon for the last four years, at least!” she told him.  
           “Dillon?” questioned Harry.  
           “Oh, all right,” the lady muttered in frustration. “If you insist on playing ignorant!” She returned the seed packet to her bag and pulled out a piece of paper. It had a word scrawled on it in uneven thick letters, “YELDUD”  
           “Yeldud?” questioned Harry in total confusion. What kind of a word was that?  
           “His name!” replied the lady impatiently, “only backwards…” She looked at Harry expectantly.  
           “Backwords?”  
           “Yes, backwords!” insisted the lady. And she pointed with her fingers at the word starting with the last letter and moved her finger from right to left.  
            Harry worked on the letters in his mind. “Dudley?” he questioned aloud. That didn’t sound like much of a name either.  
           “Yes, that’s my son!” she informed Harry proudly. “And he’s missing!”  
           “I, uh, really don’t know what you’re talking about,” confessed Harry bluntly. “Sorry.” She was so positive, but she was wrong.  
           “You telling me you really don’t remember them!” the lady insisted reaching again into her bag and pulling out a framed photograph. She pushed the photo under Harry’s nose so he couldn’t help but see them. “That’s my beautiful family,” she said while Harry looked at a Christmas photo with a pink tinsel tree in the background and several people standing in front.  
           “That’s me!” the lady explained pointing to the old lady in the photo who looked exactly like the lady standing before him only happier, “and my husband, your uncle Vincent, you know,” (but Harry didn’t know, not at all!) “He’s _not_ missing,” added the lady. “But the rest of them are—your cousin Dillon,” (she pointed to the younger stocky man with blond hair,) “Laurel, his wife,” (a nice looking lady with brown hair) “my grandson Vernon” (he looked a lot like the father only not so heavy) “and Holly.” (Holly had braided hair and was holding a gray cat) “They’re all gone, even the cat, just gone!”  
           Harry looked blankly at the photo—they were all strangers! “Why do you think it’s my doing?” he asked politely.  
           “Of course it is,” replied the lady scornfully.  
           “But surely there are lots of bad M-people out there. Why me?”  
           “Because of Holly,” the lady answered promptly.  
           “Holly?” questioned Harry directing his attention at the girl with the braids. “Why her?”  
           “She’s one of _you,_ ” reminded the lady. Harry didn’t ask who she meant by _you_. He was fairly certain they were both thinking of wizards. “And she takes karate,” continued the lady. “I don’t figure anyone but one of _you_ could make her go missing.” She had a point, if indeed the girl in the photo was a witch and that was unlikely or Harry would have surely remembered. But there was something about the cat in her arms… Harry stared at the cat…

 _“Live, Sasha, live!” Harry heard his daughter Lily say, “You must live!” _And in his mind he saw Lily weeping over a ragged gray bundle of fur...

           “Well?” the lady demanded. “What have you got to say?”  
           “Ah, that cat,” began Harry hesitantly. It was such an odd thing to have thought of and he couldn’t place the circumstances at all… “What’s its name?”  
           “The cat?” questioned the lady. “I, uh, don’t know—Sara? Suzie? Something like that.”  
           “Sasha?” suggested Harry.  
           “Yes!” exclaimed the lady excitedly. “That was it! Sasha! A real wispy thing but very nice, not at all like that horrible owl of yours!”  
           How could he recognize the cat but nothing else? Harry returned his attention to the girl holding the cat. “You say she’s been going to Hogwarts?” he asked thoughtfully.  
           “Yes,” she replied confidently. “I figure she’s been going there for four years now.”  
           “Four?” questioned Harry looking up at her in disbelief. Was she serious? There was no way a girl named Holly could have been going to Hogwarts for four years without him knowing, especially if she was a relative… Harry looked again at the photo seeking, something familiar… But he was certain he had never seen her before; would certainly remember someone with cornrow braids…

 _“Like it?” Harry suddenly heard a cheerful voice ask as he saw a colorful swirl of braided beads in front of him._  
_“It’s, ah, different,” Harry heard himself politely reply despite his dislike…_

He _knew_ her! Harry suddenly thought with shock. He hadn’t seen a face in his mind but those braids were definitely the braids of the girl in the photo! He knew her and _didn’t_ know her! How could that be?  
           Harry looked the lady with interest. She looked nothing like the photos he had seen of his parents. Could they really be related somehow? “I don’t know them,” Harry finally said bluntly, “and I don’t know you but,” he added before the lady could say anything. “I think I should…”  
           Harry took a deep breath. “Whatever’s happened to them, it wasn’t me, I swear, uh Aunt, uh, P-Petunia,” Harry continued, addressing her by name acknowledging that they might be related. Harry took another breath trying to think what to do.  “What, uh, happened, exactly?”  
           “I don’t know,” the lady replied with frustration. “They’re just missing!”  
           “When—uh, how long have they been missing?”  
           “Nearly three months,” she answered promptly. “They went on vacation and were supposed to be back in July before Holly’s birthday. Laurel never called to tell me they had returned… We drove to their place and no one was there. I checked the train they took and no one knew anything. They wouldn’t even admit they had been on the train! Then I called the B &B where they planned to stay and the people there said they had never arrived! No one knows anything!”  
           “The police?”  
           “Oh, I filed a report with them right away!” she told Harry. “And when I returned to see if there was any progress or they had found them, they couldn’t find my report! “Would I like to file another report?” they asked me ever so politely,” she added with disgust. “That’s when I realized you had fixed things so no one would ever look for them!”  
           “Not me,” Harry corrected certain he had done nothing to these people.  
           “Well, maybe not you,” admitted the lady grudgingly, “but I know it was one of your lot, I just know it!”  
           “I need some time to figure this out, to find some answers,” he told her honestly.  
           “How long?” she demanded suspiciously.  
           “Uh,” Harry thought quickly. How much time did he need when he didn’t know what he was doing? “Tomorrow morning, 9:00? Here?” he suggested. Surely by then he would know something…  
           “Very well,” answered the lady. “I guess I can wait one more day. Tomorrow, then,” she agreed. She reached out to take the photo.  
           “No!” said Harry suddenly. “May I?” he asked softening his voice. “I may need it to, uh, show people…”  
           “O. K.” she agreed reluctantly and dropped her hand. “I’ll be back here at 9:00a.m.,” she told Harry. “You’d better be too!” she threatened.  
           “I will,” Harry assured. The lady turned and walked away vanishing into the crowds. Harry wondered briefly if he should follow her but he didn’t sensing that he wouldn’t find the answers he needed with her…

**********

          Harry didn’t come to see his children off to Hogwarts. He’d never done that before. Ron and Hermione noticed his absence immediately and came over to Ginny Potter to see what had happened. The three returned the Muggle side of Kings Cross Station in search of Harry. They found him, to Ginny’s relief, much where she had seen him last—just standing there looking at something in a frame.  
           “Are you all right?” Ginny asked anxiously when she drew near.  
           “What?” asked Harry as if her words had broken his concentration. “Uh, yeah,” he assured her.  
           “You sure?” asked Ron worriedly. In truth, Harry didn’t look his usual confident self.  
           “Yeah,” Harry straightened his glasses and looked at Ron, “Yeah, I’m sure. Uh, Ron, do you remember the name of the family that took me in after my parents died?”  
           “Me?” questioned Ron. “Not right off. Why?”  
           “Hermione?” Harry asked turning towards her.  
           Hermione shook her head. “No, not at all,” she said thoughtfully. “It was a long time ago…”  
           “I know,” agreed Harry. “Still, you’d think we’d remember… What do you make of this?” he added changing the subject and holding out the frame. Everyone looked at the still of what appeared to be a family in front of a gaudy Christmas tree.  
           Hermione shrugged. “A holiday photo?” Ron nodded in agreement.  
           “Anything familiar about it?” Hermione and Ron shook their heads.  
           Ginny peered closer at the photo. “Oh,” she exclaimed suddenly, “that’s the lady that was screaming at you!”  
           Harry nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “She says she’s my Aunt Petunia; that she raised me after my parents died.”  
           “Really?” said Ron in surprise. “She doesn’t look familiar at all…”  
           “No, she doesn’t,” agreed Harry. “I’d like to tell her she’s wrong,” he added calmly, “that I’ve never had anything to do with her, but the thing is, I can’t!”  
           “Oh?” questioned Hermione.  
           “I can’t remember who took care of me—not a name, or a face or anything! I’ve been standing here trying to remember and I just can’t! I can remember Mrs. Figg babysitting me,” Harry added, “but not the people I lived with.”  
           “That’s odd,” said Ginny thoughtfully.  
           “It is,” agreed Harry. “This lady told me things about my life that a stranger shouldn’t know,” added Harry, “so maybe she _is_ my aunt, but I don’t remember her.”  
           “So what was she saying about a family?” pursued Ginny not wanting to think that that shrill lady might be related to Harry.  
           “She said her family was missing,” replied Harry calmly.  
           “What does that have to do with you?” questioned Ron.  
           “She thinks that I’m responsible, or, rather, one of our kind,” replied Harry bluntly.  
           “That’s ridiculous!” scoffed Ron. “What would we ever want to do with the likes of them?”  
           “An excellent question,” agreed Harry. “And one I asked her.  
           “And?” asked Hermione.  
           “Well, she was of the opinion that the young girl in the photo is also one of us, attending Hogwarts, in fact…”  
           “What?” exclaimed Ron in surprise. “Gimme that!” and he took the photo from Harry to look at it closer. Hermione and Ginny bent over and again looked at the figure in the photo. “Nope!” Ron pronounced confidently. “Never seen her before in my life!”  
           “You can’t have seen every student at Hogwarts,” reminded Hermione. “What’s her name?”  
           “Between the Express and school functions, yeah, I think I have!” argued Ron. “And I would have especially noticed someone wearing braids like that!”  
           Ginny had to agree. It wasn’t the usual hairstyle. Someone wearing beaded braids would have stood out.  
           “Her name’s Holly,” put in Harry answering Hermione’s earlier question.  
           “Never heard of a “Holly” at Hogwarts, either,” assured Ron. “The old lady is definitely off her rocker!”  
           “Again, I would agree,” said Harry, “except for the cat…”  
           _Cat?_ “What about the cat,” asked Ginny turning her attention to the gray cat in the girl’s arms.  
           “Does she look familiar?” Harry asked curiously.  
           _Familiar?_ “It’s a cat!” responded Ginny blankly. “What do you mean?”  
           “What’s its name?” persisted Harry.  
           “Name?” questioned Ginny. “I don’t know; it’s not my cat!”  
           “I know,” agreed Harry, “but if you had to give the cat a name, what would it be—wait,” he pulled out a quill and wrote something on the palm of his hand. Without showing the hand to Ginny, he repeated the question. “Now, what would you name it?”  
           “Seriously?” laughed Ginny.  
           “Seriously.”  
           And staring into his green eyes Ginny could tell Harry was dead serious. “O.K.,” she replied taking a few moments to think. “If I had to name the cat it would be, um, Sasha…”  
           Very slowly Harry turned over his hand. Plainly written in his palm was the word, “Sasha.”  
           Ginny could feel her mouth drop open in surprise. “How’d you do that?” she questioned. “You’re not a psychic!!”  
           “No,” agreed Harry calmly. “But it’s the name I guessed too, heard in my head, actually, and the name the lady gave the cat. What would you say the odds were that we three each came up with the same name by coincidence?”  
           “Four,” put in Hermione suddenly. “That’s the name I thought of too!”  
           The three of them looked at each other in wonder and disbelief and then looked at Ron expectantly. “Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly, “Sasha sounds right to me too!”  
           “This is not a coincidence!” pronounced Hermione darkly. “Someone’s been muddling with our minds!”  
           “That’s not possible, is it?” whispered Ginny unwilling to accept the idea. They were careful wizards and took all the basic security precautions, even more than the average wizard did because of Harry’s notoriety. It would be difficult enough to muddle one of their minds, but all of them? Then she added, “Who would do such a thing?”  
           “And why?” asked Ron.  
           “More important,” added Harry calmly, “is the fact that somewhere out there, I think, is a family in very big trouble…”


	3. Chapter 3

**********

          The tall thin old lady with the skinny neck wearing the ugly purple flowered dress entering King’s Cross Station was easy to recognize—Harry Potter had studied the photograph she had left behind often enough. Otherwise she was a complete stranger. When she reached platform 9 she stopped and looked anxiously about. Harry moved out from behind the platform 10 pillar and stepped forward. “Hello, Mrs. Wycliff,” he said by way of greeting. Harry knew she was supposed to be his Aunt Petunia but he couldn’t bring himself to call her by that title. They were guessing that Holly’s last name was also that of this lady. Kreacher had provided a last name when he recognized the girl in the photo as Harry’s cousin, Miss Wycliff.  
           “Harry,” the lady replied without hesitation. “You came.”  
           Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief that the lady seemed to acknowledge the name “Wycliff” as her own. “I said I would,” reminded Harry mildly as if his arrival had never been in question. In truth, he might not have come at all having already forgotten the encounter with the strange lady the previous day were it not for Ginny…

**********

           Harry Potter had been in the parlor reading the _Daily Prophet_ when Ginny walked in.  
           “I think I should send an owl,” she told Harry worriedly.  
           Harry looked up from the paper. “Huh?” he asked confused. “An owl? Why?”  
           “To see if they’re all right,” replied Ginny, “and if they’re coming!”  
           “Who?”  
           “Ron and Hermione.”  
           “We’re expecting them?” questioned Harry. “I didn’t know that. Are they coming for any particular reason?”  
           “To talk about Holly Wycliff,” answered Ginny.  
           “Holly Wycliff?” asked Harry as he turned a page in his paper. “Who’s that?”  
           “Your cousin, Holly Wycliff.”  
           “Cousin?” questioned Harry in confusion. “What cousin?” He had no cousin named Holly. What was Ginny talking about? She got the strangest expression on her face after he answered. Harry folded the paper. “What’s wrong,” he asked her with concern. “You look upset.”  
           Instead of answering, Ginny just stared at Harry as he placed the newspaper on the end table and stood.  
           “Ginny?” he questioned again sensing something was wrong.  
           “The newspaper!” she suddenly exclaimed. “It’s got to be the newspaper!”  
           “What?” Harry asked feeling thoroughly alarmed at Ginny’s behavior. “What are you talking about?”  
           “Kreacher,” called out Ginny ignoring Harry.  
           Kreacher appeared instantly with a loud _“crack.”_ “Yes, mum?”  
           “Did you read the paper?” Ginny asked the house elf.  
           “No, mum,” replied Kreacher. “I don’t read,” he added as further explanation.  
           “That’s O.K. Kreacher,” assured Ginny. “I don’t need you to read. I just need you to, ah— Just carry it for me,” she told Kreacher. “I’ve an idea,” she added. “Follow me!” she ordered and walked out of the parlor.  
           “Ginny?” questioned Harry following hastily behind.  
           “It’s bewitched!” she told Harry over her shoulder. “The paper’s bewitched! I’m sure of it! I’ll explain later…” she added as she continued on her way without waiting for Harry.  
           Ginny made her way up the stairs. Kreacher picked up the paper and obediently followed. Harry trailed along behind. Ginny stopped in front of the portrait of Phineas Black. He was sleeping, as usual. “Mr. Black,” she called out. “Could you help me please? Please?” Ginny repeated. “It’s important!” Phineas began to snore loudly. Harry was not surprised. He suspected Phineas didn’t particularly like his family, probably because they were all Gryffindors. He rarely spoke to Harry except to pass on messages from McGonagall. “It’s for Holly!” Ginny added suddenly.  
           To Harry’s surprise, Phineas twitched and immediately straightened. “What about Holly?” he asked worriedly. “Is she all right?”  
           “Who’s Holly?” Harry asked again now totally alarmed. It was one thing for Ginny to talk of strange names as if he should know them but when both Phineas and Ginny both spoke knowingly of the same person and that person was supposed to be his cousin, that was totally different.  
           “Your cousin,” reminded Ginny hurriedly, which didn’t help Harry at all.  
           “Miss Wycliff is a perfectly delightful young lady with good taste and wonderful manners!” explained Phineas in further detail. “How may I assist you?” Phineas concluded addressing Ginny with a courtly bow. That was even more unusual—someone who had succeeded in charming Phineas? Harry was certain he should know this person, yet he didn’t.  
           “Uh, can you read?” asked Ginny.  
           “Of course!” replied Phineas proudly.  
           “Well, I need you to read something for me—it’s the paper,” Ginny added explaining, “and I think it’s been bewitched…”  
           “Has it?” asked Phineas curiously. “And how does that help Miss Wycliff?”  
           “I’m not sure, but Harry seems to have forgotten Holly altogether and he was reading the newspaper…”  
           “Ah, so you want me to read the newspaper to see if I’ll forget her too?” said Phineas.  
           “Something like that,” agreed Ginny uncertainly.  
           “Well, if that happens, then I expect you to help me remember her afterwards; I would not like to forget Miss Wycliff,” Phineas told Ginny. “She is one of the rarest gems to have ever passed these halls, even if she _is_ a Hufflepuff.”  
           “Agreed,” replied Ginny firmly. “I wouldn’t want you to forget her either,” she added politely. “Kreacher?” she added. “Could you hold the newspaper up to Phineas please?”  
           Kreacher obliged and moved forward with the newspaper. Harry saw Ginny close her eyes. He had no idea what was going on but there was something definitely wrong and she was clearly serious about the paper so he followed Ginny’s lead removing his glasses and turning his head so there was no chance he could read the paper again.  
           “What would you like me to do?” questioned Phineas. “Read it aloud? Skim?”  
           “I don’t know,” answered Ginny. “Read it like normal, I guess. That’s what Harry probably did. Look for things that don’t belong and then we’ll see…”  
           “Very well. I feel I should warn you though,” he added, “that bewitched newspapers are not my specialty.  
           “Duly noted,” replied Ginny. “It’s not my specialty either,” she admitted. “Just do the best you can…”  
           “Of course. A-hem!” he said clearing his throat. “Let’s see,” Phineas began, “the headline says that the Hogwarts Express leaves today…” Harry remembered reading that part easily. “Did the children get off O.K.?” Phineas asked suddenly. “That would be terrible to miss the Exp—”  
           “Could you continue reading the newspaper?” cut in Harry. Phineas could get easily distracted.  
           “Ah, yes,” replied Phineas sounding rather annoyed at the interruption. “Move it a bit closer and lower,” he instructed Kreacher suddenly. “This isn’t the cleanest looking print I’ve ever read,” he informed them irritably. There was a moment of silence and then Phineas said. “That’s better,” he told Kreacher. “Let’s see… I think it says— “Headmistress McGonagall re … ports that—you know this would be a lot easier to read if you hadn’t scribbled all over the page!” Phineas said interrupting himself.  
           “Scribbled?” questioned Harry knowing he had done no such thing. Further, he was certain there had been no scribbles on the paper when Ginny had ordered Kreacher to take it up the stairs.  
           “Scribbled,” replied Phineas firmly. “Very annoying. You really should take better care of your papers,” he scolded.  
           “I didn’t scribble on it,” replied Harry defensively.  
           “Somebody did,” Phineas assured Harry. “Fine spidery ink lines everywhere,” he added informatively. “You can’t blame it on your children as they’re on the Express and I hardly think Kreacher did it,” retorted Phineas testily. “Especially as he—ah, oh! That looks like a letter!” he exclaimed suddenly. “Oh, my!” Phineas said abruptly. “Yes, that could explain a lot of things. How very clever!”  
           “What? What is? What is it?” asked Harry urgently.  
           “The spidery lines are actually words! It’s probably part of a very successful memory charm.”  
           “What kind of charm? What’s it say?”  
           “It says, ah, yes, it says, “Forget Holly … Forget the Wycliff family … Forget the Dursley family … Forget Sir.” Could you move the paper up a bit,” he added to Kreacher. “Yes, that’s it, … and down at the bottom it says, “Forget you saw this message.” That’s very clever indeed,” Phineas added appreciatively. “Everyone who reads this will forget seeing the message but not the actual message.”  
           “You haven’t forgot,” observed Harry quietly.  
           “No, of course not,” replied Phineas with disdain. “I’m only a portrait. The spell is obviously intended for living witches and wizards—perhaps Muggles too. But I doubt they’d ever read a wizard paper.”  
           “I know who Holly is,” said Ginny thoughtfully. “She’s a Wycliff and her family is missing.”  
           “She is? They are?” thought Harry with a shock. “What have I missed?”  
           “But those other names…” continued Ginny heedless of Harry’s thoughts. “Who do you suppose the Dursleys are?”  
           “I haven’t heard of them,” answered Phineas, “but I believe “Sir” is the name of the blackguard who kidnapped Miss Wycliff last year. He was very resourceful and almost succeeded,” Phineas added helpfully.  
           _“Kidnapped cousins I know nothing about!”_ thought Harry in horror. _“How can this be???”_  
Harry suddenly heard a heavy thud. Venturing a quick look, he saw Ginny sitting on the floor looking much like Harry felt. “Ah, Kreacher,” Harry managed to say, “could you please take the paper and put it somewhere where we won’t accidentally see it?”  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Kreacher.  
           Harry heard a familiar “crack” that signaled he had departed. Then he moved over to Ginny’s side and watched as she opened her eyes. “I think it’s time you told me what is going on,” he said calmly.

**********

          The old lady stared Harry with open suspicion for several minutes; Harry met that gaze calmly using the opportunity to study the lady who was his aunt and supposedly raised him since he was a toddler. He saw nothing familiar in her features or mannerisms. Finally, Mrs. Wycliff spoke, “Yes, you did,” she grudgingly admitted. “So, what about my family?”

**********

          What about them indeed? When Phineas realized the extent of Harry’s and (much to Harry’s surprise) Ginny’s “amnesia” he suggested the two review the back copies of the _Daily Prophet_ , certain one contained an account of Holly’s rescue and, perhaps, more information about Holly. That’s when Harry learned that that Phineas had built a special “paper” room—it was extendable and held every back copy of the _Daily Prophet_ since the paper first came out. Harry had never known the room existed, never questioned what happened to the papers after they read them…  
           With Kreacher and Phineas’ help Harry and Ginny worked their way back through each issue of the _Daily Prophet_ papers one by one confirming that each indeed contained a bewitched message. One date towards the end of June, the bewitched message changed to read only “Forget Sir and forget seeing the message…” That date matched the time Harry had told Ginny that Aunt Petunia had said her family had gone missing… Harry still could not remember meeting Aunt Petunia or any conversations he had had about her and Holly that morning. The bewitched papers stopped altogether in the beginning of June. Harry and Ginny speculated as to the reason why but had no answer.  
           After that, it got easier to sort through the back papers. The two continued scanning headlines until they came to the accounts concerning Holly’s kidnapping and escape. Harry had set four of those issues aside for further review and study.  
           Placed in chronological order the first showed a billowing cloud and announced, “Portkey Explosion!” Ginny had been transfixed by the cloud on the page and suddenly whispered, “I remember that!” And recounted how she and the children were walking to their designated portkey at the time. Harry remembered the game but didn’t remember the explosion at all. The following article held a brief biography of Holly Wycliff but no photo. Harry learned she was an Empath and what that was. He also learned he was the girl’s legal guardian. That made sense only if Holly’s parents were dead, but according to the lady and that photo, they weren’t. How had that happened?  
           It had, though. Harry had rapidly found legal documents within his own records that confirmed his guardianship along with documents naming a Wizard Pilkington as an alternate guardian. Why? And why Pilkington? Harry knew Pilkington as the solicitor who defended Crowley and had conducted her lawsuit against Umbridge but beyond that… There was also a restraining order against the _Daily Prophet_ … What was that about?  
Holly’s funeral was also front-page news. The accompanying obituary (again, no photo,) contained numerous quotes from friends and classmates about Holly. The comments gave Harry more insight into the person who was his cousin. It was like reading about a stranger; Harry could remember nothing on his own. Rita pointedly mentioned that Holly’s immediate family, the ones now missing, did not attend. Muggle parents would have never been prevented from attending their child’s funeral so why hadn’t they come? Harry closed his eyes while he pondered that question. Suddenly a horrible, _“Go! I don’t want to see you or your lot ever again!”_ echoed in his head. The father? The hatred was unmistakable.  
           Most intriguing, was a special edition offering a reward and urging readers to “find what Harry was after before Harry does” and a news article the following day showing a small photo of “Something Up” with Harry and Dean standing to one side watching. There was no explanation; Harry knew he would have never told Rita anything but where was the photo taken? What was he doing in such a remote looking location? Harry was certain it had to do with Holly or he would have remembered. What was it that kept shooting upwards midair? Bright and silvery, it looked somehow familiar but Harry couldn’t place it. The article appeared one day before Holly’s escape. Harry was certain it had something to do with her rescue but he didn’t know what.  
           The final paper pulled out was a Special Edition that had a huge headline bearing the words: “She’s Alive!” It bore a photo of a smiling Holly with beaded braids swaying gently about her face. The following article described the faked death and her imprisonment. It gave no information on how she escaped. Why?  
           It was fairly obvious that Sir had cast the first memory spells they found in the _Prophet_ (the one that only stated, “Forget Sir.”) No doubt Sir did not like being hunted by the Ministry. Harry was also certain he would have never let such a person go free were it in his power to prevent it. Sir had kidnapped and faked the death of someone for whom he was responsible as guardian; someone who was family!  
           It followed that Sir was responsible for the more recent disappearance of both Holly and her family. The “forget” spells would enable Sir to continue his plans for Holly without outside interference. Once transformed into the tool he desired, Holly could also be reintroduced to the wizard community with no one the wiser… The articles provided Harry with an idea of the kind of person who now held Holly and her family prisoners. It gave him hope that they might all still be alive, but in what condition? The family would no doubt be held hostage against Holly’s behavior and Holly? What was she being forced to do? It chilled Harry to the bone to think what kind of tortures they had been enduring all this time.  
           A second article in the same paper proclaimed “Sir” a person wanted by the Ministry for kidnapping, assault and several Muggle related crimes. Harry had tried to commit to memory the accompanying illustration of Sir until Phineas mentioned that he had heard from Severus that Sir was a Metamorphmangus… How did one identify and capture a Metamorphmangus? How did a Snape portrait know such things? Phineas didn’t say.

**********

           “Your family,” (Harry still refused to admit himself they were somehow related,) “is apparently missing.”  
           “I know that,” replied Mrs. Wycliff acidly. “What are you going to do about it?”  
           “I have an idea about that,” replied Harry cautiously, “but it’s going to need your help…”

**********

          Unwilling to admit to this stranger that her family had most likely been kidnapped by an unscrupulous wizard about whom he knew practically nothing, Harry had stayed up most of the night reading and re-reading the papers hoping something would surface in his mind that would help him locate and/or free them.  
           At 3:00am. Ginny, realizing that Harry was still up, had asked Kreacher to bring him some hot cocoa. Harry had stared at Kreacher thoughtfully remembering suddenly that Dobby had rescued him once… No doubt Holly’s prison had been as secure as Malfoy’s mansion... Could the answer be that easy? “Did you rescue Holly?” asked Harry bluntly.  
           “No sir,” replied Kreacher to Harry’s intense disappointment. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. Harry looked down at his cocoa staring blankly at the layer of milky tan bubbles on the top. Then Kreacher added, “Winky did.”  
           And suddenly Harry saw in his mind a swirl of white with a blur of tomato red and heard a jubilant voice shout, _“I is a house elf! I is a house elf!”_

**********

           “What sort of help?” asked Mrs. Wycliff suspiciously.  
           “The kind that shouldn’t be done in public,” answered Harry bluntly certain the lady would know what he meant. “I’ve rented an empty flat nearby,” he added, “where we can be more private. If you’ll come with me…” Harry turned as if to leave but the lady gave no indication of following. “You asked for my help,” Harry reminded Mrs. Wycliff—not that he could remember it. “Either you trust me or you don’t.”  
           Finally, she nodded and reluctantly moved forward following Harry.  
           The two walked in silence. Harry searched his mind for something to say by way of conversation but couldn’t think of anything appropriate—the weather? Traffic? Seriously? How about the memory spell that had apparently bewitched the whole wizard community including himself? Not likely. Such matters weren’t discussed with Muggles—especially strange ones. What did she even know of the wizard world? Harry really wanted to know who the lady was (besides her name) and why she looked at everything he said and did with such open suspicion or why he felt such intense loathing when he looked at her–what kind of a childhood had he had anyway? Blast that memory spell! Phineas was of the opinion that the spell was not permanent. “Why else would it have to be renewed every day,” he reasoned. He could be right, but Harry wanted his memories immediately!

**********

           “What do you want me to do?” Mrs. Wycliff asked bluntly after the door to the flat Harry had rented just that morning had been closed behind them. The flat was more of a studio room, small and unfurnished with a pale lime green linoleum floor from wall to wall.  
           “I want you to call out for someone named “Winky,” answered Harry while watching Mrs. Wycliff closely. Did she recognize the name?  
           “Why?” she questioned suspiciously clearly unfamiliar with the name.  
           Was unfamiliarity a good or bad thing? Harry didn’t know. Aloud he said, “Because I think Winky can help us find your family.”  
           “You call him!” she demanded suddenly.  
           “I already tried,” Harry informed her. “And nothing happened. It’s got to be you.”  
           “Why me?” she asked again suspiciously.  
           “Because you’re more closely related to the people we want to find than me,” Harry admitted reluctantly not wanting to tell her more than he had to.  
           “What will happen if I call out this name?”  
           “If we’re lucky, Winky will come and help us,” replied Harry fighting to keep the intense personal hatred he felt out of his voice.  
           “And if we’re not?”  
           “Winky won’t come and we’ll have to think of something else.” Not that he could think of anything else. While Kreacher had assured Harry that Winky would come promptly at the call of her master, the actual master of Winky was apparently Holly’s father. House elves supposedly passed from one master to the next within the family upon the death of the previous master. Kreacher knew of no situation where the master’s mother still lived let alone gave orders... Was it possible for her to give orders without being the actual master?  
           “You will have to think of something else!” Mrs. Wycliff corrected. “Winky?” she sort of called into the air.  
           “Ask her to come,” suggested Harry.  
           “Winky, come here! Who is Winky anyway?”  
           “Call louder with more force!” said Harry ignoring the question. “Like when you used to tell me to get up in the morning and fix breakfast.” Wait! Was that a memory? Why else would he have worded it that way? Harry clung to the idea as a drowning man does a piece of wood.  
           The lady treated Harry’s reference as nothing unusual and raised her voice. **“Winky! Get here in right now or you’ll be sorry!”**  
           A loud _“crack”_ sounded and the familiar form of Winky, wearing a snowy white pillowcase appeared.

**********

          “What is that, that _thing?!”_ screeched Mrs. Wycliff immediately backing away until she bumped into a wall while staring in open fright at Winky. Winky’s ears drooped and her whole frame cringed at Mrs. Wycliff’s harsh words and behavior. At the same time, Winky’s wide eyes stared intently at Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “That is Winky,” answered Harry glad he had followed Ginny’s suggestion of adding a _Muffleto_ spell around the room. “She is going to help us find your family,” Harry added reminding Mrs. Wycliff the reason they were there.  
           “How?” asked Mrs. Wycliff in a quavering voice.  
           “Ask Winky to “fetch” Holly,” said Harry by way of an answer. Holly was under-aged. Dudley had gotten Winky to fetch Holly. Could Dudley’s mother give the same command and retrieve Holly as well?  
           “What?” squeaked Mrs. Wycliff. “You can’t be serious! You do it!” she demanded.  
           “Winky, fetch Holly,” said Harry obligingly, just as he had learned the command from Kreacher. Nothing happened. Winky continued to stare at Mrs. Wycliff waiting; it was as if Harry wasn’t there at all.  
            _“You’ve_ got to do it,” Harry told Mrs. Wycliff. “She won’t listen to me.” Kreacher had been emphatic about that; a house elf only obeyed the commands of his/her master…  
           “Why not?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff suspiciously. “What is going on here!” she suddenly demanded. “What have you gotten my boy involved in?”  
           “We can talk about that later,” Harry replied evasively. Preferably _after_ he remembered what he had done. Better yet, if they managed to rescue Dudley, _he_ could explain things to his mum. “Please, tell Winky to “fetch” Holly,” Harry repeated.  
           “Why Holly?” Mrs. Wycliff questioned.  
           “Holly’s, ah, one of us,” replied Harry giving an answer he thought Mrs. Wycliff would accept without him having to go into detailed explanations. “We’ll need her to help us find everyone else.” If she’d help. By this time, Sir could have already broken Holly’s will and turned her into his obedient tool or found a way to convince Holly that any outside interference would jeopardize her family’s safety; she may hinder more than help in any rescue attempt. Harry had no desire to fight Holly, but it could be necessary.  
           “Winky, fetch Holly,” said Mrs. Wycliff. Winky’s ears went up at the command. She twisted the hem of the pillowcase tightly this way and that and crept closer to the lady. Winky stopped scarcely a meter from Mrs. Wycliff, looked up into her face and shook her head solemnly. Harry was afraid of that.  
           “Tell Winky to fetch Dudley,” suggested Harry. He wanted her to try, but he feared Winky would not obey that command either—Dudley was more closely related to Mrs. Wycliff but he was an adult and it was doubtful the “fetch” command would work on him.  
           “It’s Dillon, now,” said Mrs. Wycliff testily, “I already told you I couldn’t say his real name.”  
           “Dillon, then,” amended Harry wishing he remembered whatever she had said about names. The command had even less of a chance of working if she used a different name. But he still had to try. “Tell Winky to fetch Dillon.”  
           “Winky, fetch—this is ridiculous, Harry,” said Mrs. Wycliff. “What kind of a word is “fetch” anyway? That’s a _dog_ command! Dillon isn’t some stick! What I really want is my family, all of them, not just Dillon. Take me to my boy!” ordered Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “No!” exclaimed Harry. “Don’t say th—” But it was too late. Winky had already reached out, grabbed Mrs. Wycliff’s wrist and vanished!  
“No!” repeated Harry helplessly to the empty room. “No! No! No!” continued Harry in frustration pounding the nearest wall with his fists causing the plaster to crack and plaster dust to cascade onto the floor. Harry was certain that Winky had just delivered another hostage into Sir’s hands.


	4. Chapter 4

          Harry finally quit pounding the wall and leaned up against it in despair. What was he to do now? There was a family out there in trouble, held prisoner, no doubt being tortured and no way to get to them. How could he hope to find them? _“The husband!”_ thought Harry suddenly. He’d seen Mrs. Wycliff’s husband in the photograph, could recognize the man if he saw him. Perhaps, if he found the husband, the husband could be persuaded to call Winky back… But what then? If he involved the husband, would Harry only succeed in delivering one more person to Sir?  
           A loud _“crack”_ interrupted Harry’s thoughts. Harry turned at the sound. He barely recognized Winky besides him before her hand wrapped firmly around his wrist and Harry felt the familiar pushing and squeezing that meant he was Apparating.

**********

          Winky let go of Harry’s wrist. When Harry’s senses returned he found himself looking at an assortment of paintings hanging on a snowy white wall; a colourful flower garden, a still life with apples, oranges and pineapple in a basket, a typical English country pasture scene with sheep grazing and woods in the background…  
           **“How _could_ you!”** came the accusing voice of Mrs. Wycliff.  
           _“Huh?”_ Harry turned towards the voice and saw Mrs. Wycliff. They were in a small room with no apparent doors or windows. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling filled with lit candles. Mrs. Wycliff stood in front of a cot. The walls behind her were also covered with paintings.  
           “I always knew you hated me,” Mrs. Wycliff continued, “but I never thought you’d go so low as to try a stunt like this!”  
           “What?” Harry listened to Mrs. Wycliff while taking in the surroundings. There were four cots in the room, two behind Mrs. Wycliff and two on the other side. The cots appeared occupied but Harry couldn’t see how or by whom. Snowy white blankets covered the still forms in the cots from head to foot. He absently noted flowers had been placed besides the beds, huge purple and orange zinnias, yellow sunflowers and red and pink roses. In the background Harry’s senses registered the sound of a gurgling stream and crickets chirping.  
           “They’re dead!” Mrs. Wycliff announced.  
           **“WHAT?!!!”**  
           “Dead!” repeated Mrs. Wycliff. “ _All_ of them!”  
           “Dead?” whispered Harry in disbelief. “But he can’t have killed them,” Harry protested, “I was so sure!”  
           “Of course you were sure,” asserted Mrs. Wycliff caustically. “ _You_ staged that whole fiasco in the first place with that creature! Giving me hope,” continued Mrs. Wycliff in undisguised rage, “then manipulating me into using that _thing_ to take me to them just so you could dash everything in the worst possible way! How _could_ you! You despicable, ungrateful _monster!”_  
           “Me?” questioned Harry in disbelief. “No! It wasn’t me! I didn’t do this!” he denied and suddenly Harry had this sensation of having said those very words many times before accompanied by an overwhelming sense of confusion and guilt.  
           “Yeah, like every other time you said you didn’t do it!” Mrs. Wycliff reminded ruthlessly. “And _we_ know who was at fault all those times too!” she added knowingly.  
           “But… It can’t be!” protested Harry in complete denial. “I’ve got to see for myself!” Harry insisted as he staggered forward towards the cots.    “Perhaps you made a mistake.”  
           “There’s no mistake,” assured Mrs. Wycliff coldly. “I know dead when I see it!”  
           But just as Harry reached the cots, he felt himself suddenly hurled backwards his body slammed into the wall behind him and slid to the floor! Several paintings fell off the wall landing next to him in a loud clatter. _“What?”_ Stars swam in front of his eyes as Harry tried to determine what had just happened. It couldn’t be Mrs. Wycliff; she was Muggle. Harry’s bleary eyes settled on Winky—she stood in a defensive crouch much as Dobby had once done in front of Harry years earlier. Her expression was both defiant and defensive.  
           “Winky?” questioned Harry in disbelief. “What are you doing?” he asked as he struggled to his knees. Winky relaxed her pose while Harry stood but did not answer. Harry looked at Mrs. Wycliff. “Did you order her to do that?” he questioned.  
           “No,” replied Mrs. Wycliff unsympathetically, “but I wish I had.”  
           Harry cautiously moved forward but stopped when Winky raised her arms in a threatening manner. “She won’t let me near,” observed Harry with surprise. He took a step backwards and Winky lowered her arms. “Why won’t she let me near?”  
           “Perhaps it’s because you’ve already done enough!” retorted Mrs. Wycliff callously.  
           “Did she let you near?” questioned Harry curiously.  
           “Of course! How else do you think I knew they were dead?”  
           “Tell her to let me near,” instructed Harry.  
           “You tell her!” retorted Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “I can’t,” said Harry impatiently. “She doesn’t respond to me, remember? Please,” Harry added, “I’ve got to see them for myself.”  
           “Oh, all right,” sighed Mrs. Wycliff. “Winky, let Harry near.”  
           Harry walked forward. Again Winky raised her arms in a threatening fashion. Harry stopped. “She’s not obeying,” Harry observed dumbly. _“Why?”_ He studied Winky thoughtfully. “She’s protecting them!” exclaimed Harry in surprise. “You don’t protect dead people! Are they dead?” he questioned Winky.  
           “Of course they’re dead!” retorted Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “Ask her that!” Harry repeated insistently.  
           “Like it knows better than me!” Mrs. Wycliff said sarcastically.  
           “Yeah,” snapped Harry. “Ask her!”  
           “Are they dead, Winky?”  
           Winky shook her head slowly. Harry felt his whole body sag with relief.  
           “She’s mistaken,” insisted Mrs. Wycliff. “They’re not breathing! How can they be alive?”  
           “I’d rather think they were alive than dead, wouldn’t you?” countered Harry dryly. “Besides, I’ve heard of potions and spells that can simulate death,” he added thoughtfully.  
           “O.K. so how do you wake them up?”  
           “No idea,” replied Harry promptly. “I suppose I’d get a Healer to try…”  
           “Winky, get me a He—”  
           “No!” exclaimed Harry moving forward to stop Mrs. Wycliff from talking. Again, he was slammed back into the wall breaking several of the previously fallen painting frames in the process. Broken bits of frame poked uncomfortably into his back.  
           “What?” demanded Mrs. Wycliff irritably.  
           “You can’t just order Winky to snatch people off the street for you!” explained Harry as he pulled himself to a seating position.  
           “Why not? That’s how I got you here!”  
           “Yeah, well, I’m not likely to sue you either,” retorted Harry. He leaned forward and pulled frame pieces out from under him.  
           “No,” Mrs. Wycliff admitted reluctantly. She frowned in thought. Then she smiled. “But I’m sure they’ll see it was for a good cause,” she added brightly. “Winky, get me a Healer!”  
           To Harry immense relief, Winky solemnly shook her head “no.” But then he wondered _“Why?”_ From his experience with Kreacher, Winky would only disobey a direct order of a family member if it contradicted the orders of another family member, someone higher in the family rank. But the rest of the family were all in the beds in front of him sleeping… Of course, one of them could have given a long range order such as “never talk” before falling asleep but who could have predicted and opposed a command such as “get a Healer?” Wait a minute— _Three_ vases with flowers? But there were _four_ cots! “One of those beds is empty!” Harry announced aloud. “Who’s missing?” he demanded when Mrs. Wycliff didn’t correct him.  
           “Holly,” she said flatly.  
           “You lied!” Harry announced dumbly.  
           “Yes!” she admitted  
           “Why?” Harry asked feeling betrayed by the deceit.  
           “Justice!” she told him icily. “Your kind doesn’t care about any but your own,” she told Harry. “Over twenty years and never a word from you until you found out about Holly. You barely gave me the time of day yesterday until I mentioned Holly. And who did you want me to “fetch” first? Holly! When that creature brought me here and I saw my beloved son, his wife and my dear grandson lying dead, I knew I would never get justice for them unless one of _yours_ had died with them, so yes, I ordered that thing to get another bed and I included Holly.”  
           “But they aren’t dead!” protested Harry.  
           “So you say. But I’ll believe that only when they sit up and talk to me…”  
           Harry stared at the lady appalled at the assessment she had just made. “How can you believe all that of me!” he said; his low voice was charged with emotion. “If I had felt that way, I wouldn’t have had my friends hide you and your family from Lord Voldemort! He would have gladly ripped you all to shreds at the first opportunity!” Harry couldn’t personally remember sending them into hiding, but that’s what the wizard history books had said he had done. And he was certain what Lord Voldemort would have done if he’d had the chance…  
           Mrs. Wycliff looked surprised by the comment. “That was a long time ago,” she told him finally. “Things change,” she reminded. “You were in that station with your family while my family was missing, maybe dead! And you didn’t even know; didn’t care!”  
           That was because of Sir’s spell, Harry now knew. But how could he explain that? He took a deep breath. “I tell you now,” he began carefully, “that your family is my family and I want them alive and free as much as you! I promise you I shall do all I can to make that happen!”  
           Mrs. Wycliff regarded him intently for a long time as if judging his sincerity before she finally nodded. “O.K.,” she told him, “what now?”  
           “Now, we get them out of here,” replied Harry briskly. He stood as he brushed off the splinters on his clothes. “This place isn’t safe,” he added knowing Sir could arrive at any minute.  
           “What about Holly?” she asked worriedly. Harry breathed a mental sigh of relief at her words. It was obvious she hated him; he was afraid she hated Holly as well. That didn’t seem to be the case.  
           “We can rescue Holly easily as soon as Du, uh, Dillon wakes,” Harry told her confidently as he reached under his robes to get his wand. Suddenly he felt himself again slammed against the back wall crashing into the fallen pictures.  
           “What is it with you Winky?” Harry asked angrily as he pulled himself away from the wall and removed more splinters from his back. “I was just trying to move them somewhere safe!” He started to reach for his wand again but saw Winky’s bony arms go up threateningly. Harry froze and then lowered his arm slowly bringing it into view with _out_ the wand. Winky lowered her arms. “Right,” said Harry with resignation. “No wand.” He could try to fight Winky but didn’t know who would win; besides, they needed Winky to rescue Holly.  
           “I guess we’ve got to try to wake them first,” Harry said knowing Dudley could order Winky to take everyone out of there. Winky would _have_ to obey him… “But I don’t know how to wake them,” he reminded Mrs. Wycliff. “I’m going to have to ask someone or find a book or something…”  
           “I could order it to take you somewhere and bring you back,” offered Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “Possibly,” said Harry thoughtfully, “assuming Winky will do that,” he added remembering how Winky didn’t obey all the orders Mrs. Wycliff had given her.  
           “Well?” Mrs. Wycliff demanded turning her attention to Winky. “Will you do that?” Winky nodded. In fact, she looked rather pleased at the idea. What was going on with Winky? “So,” continued Mrs. Wycliff. “Where do you want to go?”  
           Harry thought quickly. Hermione? She’d help, but he’d have to explain things first, a lot of things. He and Ginny guessed that the reason they never showed up the previous night to discuss the photo and their missing memories was because they had probably looked at the _Prophet_ and had forgotten everything, as Harry had. The library? Perhaps, but wasn’t sure the information he needed would be located there or in a more private collection. Asking about potions or spells that could simulate death would raise eyebrows and questions and not necessarily provide the answers he needed… “St. Mungo’s,” Harry said aloud. He not only needed books but possibly some potions. That could not be found at a library.  
           “O.K., Winky, take Harry to St. Mungo’s and fetch him back in thirty mi—”  
           “Thirty?” interrupted Harry quickly. Would that be enough time for anything?  
           “Thirty,” repeated Mrs. Wycliff firmly. “No matter what you say, Harry, it’s creepy here alone with them looking so dead... Winky,” she began again, “Take Harry to St. Mungo’s and bring him back here in thirty minutes.” Winky vanished from where she had been standing with a loud _"crack"_ and reappeared next to Harry. She grabbed his wrist and Harry felt the familiar sensation of Apparating…

**********

          They arrived outside the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building. Winky held on briefly until Harry had his bearings and then, with another “crack,” she vanished. Harry walked up to the window display to face a female dummy on the other side. “I’ve a medical problem,” he told the female dummy. The dummy face nodded and beckoned with her jointed finger. Harry stepped through the glass and into the reception room.  
           The waiting area was empty. _“That’s good,”_ thought Harry absently as he walked forward. It meant there was less chance of Rita finding out he was there. Sir had to be connected with the _Prophet_ somehow; how else could he have managed to bewitch all the papers? Sir was probably watching Rita if, for no other reason, than to insure his spell on the _Prophet_ held.  
           Harry knew Rita paid well for news tips and had heard she paid extra for tips about him. No doubt she knew he had missed seeing his children off at the Express the previous day, probably knew he had spent his time in the Muggle side of the station and was even now deciding if there was enough to compose an article. Word that he had visited St. Mungo’s would only give her more fuel. Rita’s articles about him had been positively beastly after the stadium collapse and hadn’t read much better after Holly’s “death...”

       _“All right Harry dear, I’ll print it your way, but if she gets out, I expect an exclusive!”_

        _“I went to Rita!”_ thought Harry with shock freezing mid-step. He easily recognized the silky voice that suddenly sounded in his head, clearly fragments of a forgotten memory. Slightly off balance, Harry’s foot came down heavily. _“How could I have gone to Rita?”_ Harry asked himself as he managed to keep moving forward stopping at the counter. _“Why?”_  
           “How may I help you?” The receptionist’s voice interrupted Harry’s thoughts.  
           “Uh, I don’t feel right,” blurted Harry saying the first thing he could think of. And in truth, he didn’t feel too well. He had been talking to Rita!!! _Rita!!!_ What else had he done last year?  
           “Diagnostics, down the hall and the first door to the right,” she said in a bored voice. “A healer will be with you shortly.”  
           “Winonan?” Harry suddenly insisted.  
           “Of course Winonan,” she replied rolling her eyes a bit. “That’s his room…”  
           “Thank you,” Harry said. He turned, walked down the hall and into the first room on the right.

**********

          Harry ignored the chair and a small pallet and instead turned his full attention to the shelves on the walls. No books!!!! Darn! Just lots of colourful, odd-shaped bottles and flasks. Perhaps the bottles were hiding something in back… Harry moved closer and peered behind the bottles. He saw a lot of pouches and jars…  
           “Looking for something?” questioned a feminine voice belonging to a portrait of a matronly lady with dark brown hair all braided and twisted into a bun on top of her head.  
           “No!” came Harry’s automatic denial as he stepped guiltily back from the shelves. “Ah, Fiona,” he added changing the subject while looking over the background of her portrait—a table full of vials and potion bottles—no books—rats! “You’re a healer, aren’t you?” he asked suddenly realizing that despite clothing that suggested she was from the Middle Ages her presence in the hospital implied she had been a healer with a healer’s knowledge.  
           “Of course,” she answered, “or, I was; the best in my day,” she added proudly.  
           “Do you think you could look at someone for me?” Harry asked with sudden interest.  
           “Certainly not,” she replied firmly. “That’s a _live_ Healer’s job. I just give advice.”  
           “You wouldn’t happen to know what causes people to look dead then, would you?” Harry persisted.  
           “There are some potions and spells that can simulate death,” she answered thoughtfully, “most of them dark… Why do you ask?”  
           “Because I’ve got this problem,” began Harry hesitantly. All this was so hard to explain. “Do you remember Holly?” Harry asked suddenly trying again from a different angle.  
           “Your cousin?” Finoa brightened. “Yes, of course, is this about her? Is she in trouble?”  
           “Yes!” answered Harry with relief, “she is. I’m certain she is. And her family definitely is…” Harry added. “You see—”  
           The door opened and Healer Winonan stepped in. Today he wore a pink and blue striped shirt and bright orange pants with yellow polka-dot suspenders underneath his lime green healer’s robe.  “Hello, Mr. Potter,” he said cordially. “How may I help you today?”  
           “I was wondering what to do when someone looks dead but isn’t...” Harry began.  
           “You take that person to me,” replied the healer promptly. “Undoing death-like spells and potions should not be attempted by a layman…”  
“But if you couldn’t, uh, couldn’t get that person to you, what then?” persisted Harry. “Are there some books I could read, or potions I could give to wake that person up?”  
           “Yes, of course,” replied Winonan, “but that assumes the person in question actually is under a death-like spell…”  
           “They are,” assured Harry. “So, um could I borrow some books and potions and things that have to do with undoing death-like spells?”  
           Healer Winonan folded his arms and looked sternly at Harry. “What’s this about, Mr. Potter?”  
           “My cousin,” said Harry bluntly. “My cousin and his wife and son; they’re in trouble.”  
           “What cousins would these be?”  
           “Mine,” Harry said firmly. “They look dead but they aren’t so I think somebody, Sir, actually, cast a spell or something on them…”  
           “I wasn’t aware you had any cousins,” stated Winonan, “except Muggles, maybe. Are they Muggles?”  
           “Uh, yes,” Harry admitted reluctantly.  
           “When Muggles _look_ dead, it’s usually because they _are_ ,” informed Winonan bluntly. “Besides wishful thinking, what makes you think they aren’t?”  
           “Uh, because their house elf says so,” answered Harry reluctantly.  
           _“Their_ house elf?” echoed Winonan with a raised bushy eyebrow, “not yours?”  
           “Uh, yeah,” confirmed Harry reluctantly.  
           “O.K.,” said the Healer with a straight face. “Bring them in for an exam.” Harry could hear open disbelief in his voice.  
           “I tried,” began Harry, “but, uh, the elf wouldn’t let me…”  
           “Wouldn’t let? How convenient,” Winonan observed dryly. “Perhaps you could take me to them?” he suggested. “I am not in the habit of making house calls, but the sight of three not-dead Muggles and their … _house elf_ … might be worth an exception…”  
           “That’s good of you to offer,” replied Harry, “really, it is, and I’d like to take you up on it, but uh, it’s just that, I, uh, don’t know where they are…” That answer sounded lame even to Harry’s ears even though he knew it was true.  
           Winonan stared at Harry for a full minute before speaking. “You know, I never took much stock in Rita’s claim that you had mental problems until now…”  
           “But—”  
           “I cannot imagine why you would desire some highly dangerous, potentially toxic potions but I never thought you were so foolish as to come to me for assistance; you would have had a better chance of getting what you wanted had you gone to a vendor at Knockturn Alley, or, better yet, made some in secret, say, in the privacy of your own home,” the Healer continued without letting Harry speak. “Asking me is tantamount to a subconscious cry for help. And then you tell me such an outlandish story no one in their right mind would believe…”  
           “But it’s true!” protested Harry.  
           “And that’s why I’m beginning to think there is something to Rita’s accusations,” continued Winonan almost in the same breath. “You’re very sincere and seem to believe this story you’ve told but house elves simply cannot be commanded by Muggles!”  
           “But what about Holly?” sputtered Fiona.  
           “Holly?” questioned Winonan turning to Fiona. “What Holly?” he demanded. Harry slid his wand out from under his robes. “What are you talking about?” Winonan added.  
           “The Holly who is their daughter!” she exclaimed. “The Empath!”  
           “Now _you’re_ talking nonsense,” asserted Winonan. “There hasn’t been an Empath in nearly 20 years!”  
           _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ shouted Harry. Healer Winonan straightened as a board and fell backwards. Harry caught him before he crashed into the wall.  
           “What are you doing?” screeched Fiona.  
           “Saving my family,” replied Harry grimly as he lowered Winonan’s stiff body onto the floor. “Terribly sorry about this,” he added talking to Winonan.  
           “You can’t just cast freezing spells on Healers,” protested Fiona.  
           “If I must,” retorted Harry.  
           “But you’ve assaulted a _Healer!”_ Fiona repeated. “They’ll throw you in Azkaban for sure!”  
           “It’s for a good cause,” Harry replied remembering Aunt Petunia’s earlier words, “perhaps that’ll help.”  
           “You should have tried explaining things!” Fiona argued.  
           “I did,” Harry countered. “You heard him,” Harry continued while looking thoughtfully around the room. “He doesn’t know Holly—no one in the wizard world does; Sir cast a memory charm on everyone so they’d forget! I don’t have the time to explain things to Winonan and I doubt he’d believe me if I tried.” Harry pulled the sheet off the pallet and laid it flat in the middle of the floor. “I’m no good to anyone if I’m locked away “for my own good!” Harry continued looking again around the room. “Besides,” he added as he took several potion bottles from off the shelf and laid them in the center of the sheet, “I’m kind of on a time limit…”  
           “What do you think you’re doing?” protested Fiona as Harry took more bottles off the shelves and placed them together on the sheet. “You can’t take those things!” insisted Fiona. “It’s theft!” she reminded Harry. “You’re only making things worse!”  
           “Worse than assault?” questioned Harry as he continued to clear the shelves of their potion bottles and other supplies.  
           “But you can’t just take everything!” Fiona protested.  
           Harry paused and looked at Fiona. “They’re alive but they look dead! Tell me which ones I need!”  
           Fiona straightened behind her table. “I can’t do that!” she replied righteously.  
           “That’s what I thought,” replied Harry and returned to clearing the shelves of their contents. Besides the bottles, Harry added flasks, a mortar and pestle, several spoons and an assortment of jars with unnamed dry ingredients within. When all the shelves had been cleared, Harry gathered up the four corners of the sheet and tied them together making a bag. Then he carefully lifted the bag off the floor. Everything clinked loudly as they slid together but nothing sounded as if it cracked or broke. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. The bag was heavy but he wouldn’t have to do much more than lift it for a while. How much time did he have left? Harry had no idea; he’d lost track but it couldn’t be much.  
           “Besides, you don’t know how to use them!” Fiona continued to protest. “You’ll kill them for sure if you try!”  
           “True,” agreed Harry while staring thoughtfully at Fiona. He gently set the bag back down on the floor next to him. Then he stepped forward towards Fiona and stretched out his arms.  
           “Wait!” exclaimed Fiona with a sudden burst of apprehension. “What do you think you’re doing?” she questioned as Harry lifted the portrait off the wall. It was rather heavy and awkward to hold. “You can’t be serious!” Fiona continued as Harry set the portrait down on the floor next to him.    “How _dare_ you try to steal me too!”  
           “Like you said, I don’t know how to use this stuff,” Harry murmured as he leaned the portrait upright against his leg, “but _you_ do.” He readjusted his grip so he was holding the frame securely with one hand. Then Harry bent down and with the other hand took hold of the bag. Harry tightened his grip on both bag and portrait when he heard a loud _“crack”_ announcing the arrival of Winky. He felt Winky’s hand firmly grip his wrist and then the two Apparated.

 


	5. Chapter 5

          “Well?” came Mrs. Wycliff’s voice almost before Harry had recovered from Apparating. “What did you find out?”  
           “Not much,” replied Harry while setting down the bag of potions. “But I think I’ve got some help.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes.” Harry turned the portrait around so it faced Mrs. Wycliff. “This is Fiona,” he told Mrs. Wycliff. “She’s a healer. Fiona, this is Mrs. Wycliff, Holly’s grandmother.” Harry looked down at the portrait and noticed that Fiona had frozen in one position like a Muggle portrait. “Uh, Mrs. Wycliff is also my aunt,” he told Fiona. “She and her husband, uh, raised me after my parents died so they, uh, know all about wizards… Uh, behind her in those beds are my other cousins, the ones that look dead but aren’t.” Fiona remained stiff and still.  
           Harry stepped in front of the painting. Still keeping hold of the frame, he knelt down so he was eye-to-eye to the portrait, so to speak. “Listen,” he told the portrait. “I know you’re upset and I don’t blame you and I’m sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. You see,” Harry continued, “that’s Winky,” Harry swung the portrait around so it faced the house elf who stood nearby. “Winky won’t let me get near the others to take them to a Healer and won’t let me bring a proper Healer to take care of them. I’m hoping you and, uh, my aunt, can work together to wake them up.”  
Fiona never moved. Harry sighed and leaned back a bit. What else could he say?  
           “You’re pathetic,” stated Mrs. Wycliff coldly. “Talking to paintings now? You’re crazy, Harry, the whole lot of you! Give up the charade,” she demanded. “My family is dead and there is nothing you can do to bring them back. Let me take them home and give them a proper burial.”  
           “How dare you call Harry crazy!” exploded Fiona. “Not after what he’s done to try to save your family!” Mrs. Wycliff stumbled backwards in surprise. “They’re probably going to lock him up in Azkaban and throw away the key when he gets back all because of what he did to help you!” Fiona continued righteously. At the same time a puffy purple chair suddenly materialized underneath Mrs. Wycliff so she fell into it instead of landing on the floor. Mrs. Wycliff gave a small yelp and jumped out of the chair. She turned backing away from it hastily crashing into Harry in the process. Harry let go of the portrait as he fell causing it to clatter loudly.  
           Mrs. Wycliff rapidly untangled herself from Harry, pushed herself up, and backed away from the portrait too. “You! You! You!” she sputtered at the portrait as she moved.  
           “Harry,” Fiona continued while ignoring Mrs. Wycliff’s reaction. “Lift me up and take me to your cousins.” Mrs. Wycliff suddenly sank down landing heavily on a fat pink pillow that abruptly appeared underneath her legs.  
           “I can’t do that,” protested Harry. “I told you, Winky won’t let me near!”  
           “Do as I say,” commanded Fiona. “I’m a heavy portrait and your aunt is an elderly lady. You surely didn’t expect her to lift me up did you?”  
           “Uh, no, I guess I didn’t,” replied Harry uncertainly. He hadn’t thought much past getting Fiona there and even that had been a last minute impulse…  
           “Well she can’t and no self-respectable nephew would ever consider letting her try,” Fiona scolded. “Now, get yourself up off that floor, pick me up and take me over to your cousins.”  
           “Yes, ma’am,” said Harry meekly. He got to his knees. As he did so, he was uncomfortably aware that Winky used the same time to move to a position between him and his cousins. “This is not going to end well,” he muttered as he grasped both sides of the frame and lifted up.  
           “Have a little faith,” assured Fiona confidently as Harry stood. “We’re all here for the same reason. Now, just move me to where I can see your cousins.”  
           Harry cautiously took a step forward, and then another and another. He stopped when he saw Winky’s arms move threateningly up. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he told Fiona warningly.  
           “You’re the one that brought me here,” Fiona reminded. “Either you do what I say or you take me back!”  
           “Yes, ma’am,” said Harry uncomfortably reminded that he had said something similar to Mrs. Wycliff just that morning… He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and took another small step forward, and another. Suddenly he felt himself hurled across the room stopping when his body smashed into the wall behind him. He slid down the wall and landed in a pile of splintered portrait frames.  
           “I told you!” he announced as he opened his eyes.  
           “So you did,” replied Fiona from across the room. “Which was why I knew Winky would know how to properly take care of a portrait!” Indeed, while Fiona’s portrait had been ripped from Harry’s fingers when he had flown across the room. Instead of crashing to the floor it hung, undamaged, suspended in the air where Harry had once been. “And you took perfect care of me, didn’t you?” she cooed at Winky. Winky’s ears went up; her whole body straightened at the compliment and she nodded her head.  
           “You, she answers,” commented Harry disgustedly.  
           “Of course,” answered Fiona without concern. “Why wouldn’t she?”  
           “She won’t answer me!”  
           “You’re not family!”  
           “Not family?” protested Harry.  
           “A house elf responds only to the direct orders of her immediate family not distantly related cousins…” Fiona replied primly. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Mrs. Wycliff,” she added in a motherly tone, “we’ll soon have your family put back to rights. But I do need a tiny bit of help. Would you kindly direct Winky to hold me over your son so I can examine him?”  
           “Wha—I, uh,”  
           “Harry, where are your manners?” scolded Fiona suddenly. “Help your aunt up,” she instructed. “It’s difficult getting up off the floor even if she is sitting on a pillow.”  
           “But—” Harry looked from Fiona to Mrs. Wycliff. She somehow had gained much of her righteous composure and now looked expectantly at Harry. Harry swallowed his words of protest, stood, brushed himself off, again, and walked over to Mrs. Wycliff. He extended his hand to her. Mrs. Wycliff took the hand as if it were her due and leaned heavily on him as she stood. Harry moved with Mrs. Wycliff keeping his arm out for support as they walked towards the cots.  
           “Thank you, Harry,” called out Fiona. Harry stopped. He noted that Winky’s arms had begun to move up threateningly. “Now be a good lad and go stand against the wall while we take care of business,” Fiona suggested. “Mrs. Wycliff,” Fiona continued without waiting for Harry to move, “Which one of these cots contains your son?"  
           “That one,” replied Mrs. Wycliff pointing to the nearest cot.  
           “Excellent. Now, if you would be good enough to tell Winky to position me over his head and just a bit to one side tilted slightly down so I can see his face?”  
           “Uh, do it!” Mrs. Wycliff commanded while looking at Winky. Winky nodded and Fiona’s portrait drifted gently through the air until it stopped to one side of the cot.  
           Harry quietly retreated to the far wall. He didn’t like being ordered about so, but recognized there was nothing else he could do at the moment anyway.  
           “Could you please pull the sheet back?” requested Fiona.  
           Mrs. Wycliff did—just a bit. Harry could only see the head of someone resting upon a puffy white pillow.  
           “Oh, my!” exclaimed Fiona. “He really does look dead!”  
           “He is,” stated Mrs. Wycliff flatly.  
           “Nonsense!” assured Fiona. “Winky wouldn’t be guarding a dead body, now would you?” she asked while looking at Winky. Winky’s ears perked up and she shook her head.  
           “There, see?” spoke Fiona confidently. “Now, could you feel his forehead for me, please?”  
           Mrs. Wycliff placed the back of her hand on Dudley’s forehead.  
           “What does it feel like,” Fiona asked. “Hot? Warm? Cold? Clammy? Sweaty? What?”  
           “Cold,” replied Mrs. Wycliff. “Ice cold.”  
           “Ooooh,” said Fiona. “His cheeks too?”  
           Mrs. Wycliff moved her hand down to Dudley’s cheek. “Yes, the cheek too,” she reported.  
           “Could you just push down a bit on the cheek,” asked Fiona. “Does it stay indented or spring back?”  
           “It springs back,” replied Mrs. Wycliff after a moment.  
           “What about the eyes?” continued Fiona. “Could you just gently lift up an eyelid and tell me what his eye looks like? Be careful to not push down too hard or damage the eye…”  
           Harry brushed away some of the broken picture frames and sat down on the floor. Suddenly he felt incredibly tired. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t see what has happening anyway so there was no point in trying to watch. Besides, listening to Mrs. Wycliff’s voice made him feel faintly nauseated. He decided he really did not like Mrs. Wycliff…  
           He used the time to review the events of the day. Would they really lock him up in Azkaban for what he did to Winonan? He hoped not, but had no idea what the laws were. And what about the lady who was now probably lifting Dudley’s hand upon Fiona’s direction? Harry still didn’t recognize her, didn’t like her, but deep down, he was certain they were related, certain he had done the right thing. Though there had been no sign of him, Harry also worried that Sir would show up at any minute and somehow try to stop what they were attempting to do… In the background, Harry heard Fiona instruct Mrs. Wycliff to move her portrait to Dudley’s wife, Laurel, for an examination… And then their son Vernon…  
           "Well,” came Fiona’s voice rather loudly interrupting Harry’s thoughts, “it is definitely a spell of some sort, but I’m having difficulty determining which one…”  
           Harry opened his eyes. Fiona and Mrs. Wycliff were again next to Dudley’s cot. “Oh?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “Yes, you see, I would have assumed it was the Draught of Living Death, except for the time factor…”  
           “Time?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “Yes, over two months, you say?” Mrs. Wycliff nodded. “At least sixty days?” Fiona asked Winky demanding additional confirmation. Winky nodded also. “That’s the problem. You see, the Draught does produce the appearance of Death, hence the term “Living” Death, but it must be undone rather quickly or the “appearance” could become permanent instead of temporary. Despite the _look_ of death, the body, being still alive, requires sustenance as does all bodies. You can see the problem,” concluded Fiona. “If they’d truly been under the influence of the Draught of Living Death for over sixty days, they surely would be dead by now unless…” Fiona stopped in thought. Suddenly she turned towards Winky. “Have you been feeding them?” she asked Winky. Winky’s ears went down; she twisted her pillowcase outfit tightly and she nodded her head up and down like a guilty child.  
           “Well, you wonderful, wonderful, devoted little elf!” exclaimed Fiona approvingly. “Keeping them alive all this time. That can’t have been easy.” Winky beamed with obvious pride at the praise. “However did you manage?”  
           Harry swallowed suddenly and closed his eyes again. He did _not_ want to think how that had been done.  
           “You have made things ever so much easier!” cooed Fiona. “Wake up, Harry,” she shouted briskly. “You have work to do!” Harry opened his eyes and hastily scrambled to his feet. “Honestly, sleeping at a time like this!” scolded Fiona.  
           “I wasn’t sleeping,” protested Harry.  
           “Of course not,” agreed Fiona in a tone that suggested she believed anything but. “Now that you’re up,” she added, “dig into that bag and get the tiny green bottle with a black cork.” Harry dutifully unwrapped the bag of potion supplies and started sorting through the bottles. “Mrs. Wycliff,” Fiona added as Harry worked, “could you have Winky move me to over the bottles so I can supervise properly?” Harry noted motion of the portrait drifting over towards him stopping to hover about two meters above the ground and tilted slightly downward so Fiona could watch. “Thank you,” Fiona said sweetly. “Now, why don’t you sit down in that chair and relax a bit,” she suggested. “This may take a while.” Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Mrs. Wycliff sitting down.  
           “This the one?” questioned Harry holding up a small dark green bottle with a black stopper.  
           “Yes. Now get that tan bottle with the brown cork labeled with the letter “S.”  
           “You mean this one?” Harry asked as he fished out a bottle matching her description.  
           “Yes. Now get one of the empty flasks, the medium sized one. How were your potion scores at Hogwarts?”  
           “Um, Exceeds Expectations?” he answered uncertainly as he pulled out a medium sized empty flask that looked clean and set it next to the other two bottles. Harry couldn’t remember what Professor Slughorn had given him. Scores hadn’t mattered much at the time.  
           “Hummph,” Fiona snorted. “I guess that shall have to do… Find a spoon to measure with,” she instructed. “No, that’s too big. Get the brass one,” she said when Harry held out a wooden spoon. Harry set that spoon aside and looked for a spoon made of brass.  
           “You this thing that looks like a snake?” questioned Harry holding up the only item that appeared to be made of brass. It was about 20 centimeters in length. The handle was thin and twisty on one end, with a flattened, indented part for the spoon making the head.  
           “That is a garden eel, not a snake,” corrected Fiona tartly, “and yes, that’s the one. Now, there should be a small jar with some red beetle shells inside…”  
           Harry rummaged around the things he had managed to bring along checking the jars until he found one filled with red shells. “This one?” he questioned. He put some of the shells in one hand and held them up for Fiona’s inspection.  
           She frowned. “No,” she said, “those are too big… Check the pouches…”  
           Harry returned the shells to the bag, opened up some pouches and finally found one with tiny sparkly red bits he guessed were shells. “These?" he questioned holding the opened bag out for inspection.  
           “Yes,” she replied. “Now, get that red bottle with the green and blue cork.”  
           “Why doesn’t anything have labels?” Harry asked as he checked the corks of red bottles.  
           “Minimizes chance of theft if the thief doesn’t know what he’s getting,” replied Fiona succinctly.  
           “So you just have to take everything, instead,” replied Harry dryly. “Which one?” he asked while holding up two reddish coloured bottles, one larger than the other, but both with green and blue corks.  
           “The smaller one,” Fiona replied. “Some of these bottles you do not want to open, ever—and any would-be thief would instantly regret doing so,” she added.  
           “Good to know,” murmured Harry hoping Fiona would not instruct him to open one of those. He briefly considered asking her to make sure but decided to not push the matter…  
           “Put two heaping spoonfuls of shell in the mortar and grind it to a fine powder.”  
           Harry took the spoon and obediently placed the desired amount of sparkly shell in the mortar and proceeded to grind it with the pestle. “How’s this?” he asked holding up a finished product.  
           “Perfect,” replied Fiona. “Now, uncork the green bottle and carefully measure out one spoonful.”  
           Harry did as instructed. “What next?” he asked.  
           “Gently stir it into the ground beetle shells,” she replied. “Try to not breathe the resulting fumes,” Fiona added.  
           “Why not?” asked Harry as he tipped the spoon letting the contents fall into the ground beetle shells.  
           “Because they’re rather poisonous!” she replied.  
           “Poisonous?” exclaimed Harry immediately drawing back from the mortar. “Why am I mixing something poisonous?”  
           “Because it’s not “poisonous” to them!” Fiona replied tartly, “so be careful.”  
           “Great!” muttered Harry. He covered his mouth and nose with his shirt and gingerly stirred the mixture keeping as far away as possible from the greenish vapors that drifted up.  
           “Keep stirring until the fumes stop coming up,” Fiona instructed. “Excellent,” she said after a moment. “Set that mixture aside and get the red bottle.”  
           Harry put the concoction up against the wall well away from him. Then he returned to the pile of bottles and picked up the red bottle.  
           “Use the wooden spoon and put four spoonfuls into the empty flask,” she instructed.  
           “Which spoon?”  
           "The medium sized one," Fiona answered. Harry held up a medium sized spoon for her approval. "Yes, that one," she said in approval.  
           Fiona watched carefully while Harry uncorked the bottle and carefully measured and poured out a spoonful of the yellowish liquid within into the flask. It was very thick and poured slowly. Then Harry did another, and another, and another. “Now,” came Fiona’s voice when he had finished, “pour in one spoonful from the tan bottle.” Harry re-corked the red bottle, uncorked the tan bottle and did as instructed. There was a thin whitish potion within the tan bottle.  
           “Place a clean cork in the flask and shake the other two potions very thoroughly.”  
           Harry found a cork, wiped it off with his shirt, put it in the bottle and began to shake the contents. After a minute, everything turned blue in colour.  
           “Excellent,” approved Fiona. “Set the flask down and get that medium sized brown bag.”  
           “Got it,” said Harry as he grabbed the brown bag. He held it out for Fiona to see.  
           “Good,” she replied. “Now, open it, reach inside and draw out the smaller bag.”  
           “A smaller bag inside?” questioned Harry as he unknotted and opened the bag. It contained a white granular substance resembling salt.  
           “Yes, the contents of the smaller bag must be kept dry at all times,” replied Fiona.  
           Harry carefully poked his fingers into the stuff searching for the second bag. His fingers quickly found the second bag within and he pulled it out.  
           “Don’t open it yet,” instructed Fiona. “Uncork your flask first.”  
           Harry set down the smaller bag. Then he pulled the cork out of the flask that he had shook. “Open the smaller bag,” Fiona told Harry. He did so. There was a fine gray powder inside. “Place four pinches of the powder inside the flask.”  
           “Big or little pinches?” questioned Harry as he gingerly placed his thumb and forefinger into the powder.  
           “The largest you can get,” replied Fiona firmly. “It’s a very slippery powder so you’ll be lucky to hold onto any of it.”  
           Harry placed his thumb and forefinger together and tried to hold as much as he could before removing his hand from the bag and dropping the powder into the flask. “One,” he muttered to himself keeping count. The silvery powder seemed to glow brightly when it landed on the mixture within the flask. Then it faded into black specks. Harry repeated the action three more times.  
           “No, don’t shake it yet,” said Fiona when Harry attempted to put the cork back in. “First rebury the small bag in the larger bag and tie it up tight,” she instructed. Harry did as told. “Now, remember the jar with the large red shells, the ones I said were too big?”  
           “Yeah,” replied Harry.  
           “Well, put four of those shells in the flask and close it up fast!”  
           “More poisonous gas?” questioned Harry as he retrieved the jar with the larger shells.  
           “No,” replied Fiona. “But it’s pretty noxious.”  
           “Will these do?” questioned Harry holding up four shells in his hand for Fiona’s inspection.  
           “Yes,” she replied. “Put them in the flask and…”  
           “And close it up fast,” repeated Harry remembering what she had said earlier.  
           “That’s right,” agreed Fiona.  
           Harry transferred the shells to the fingers of his left hand and picked up the cork with his right. Then he dropped the shells into the flask and put the cork in before the fumes could escape the flask.  
           “Excellent,” approved Fiona. “Now, shake the flask vigorously until you I tell you to stop.”  
           Harry proceeded to shake the flask. Fiona had him stop several times so she could check the progress of the mixture. Finally, she seemed satisfied and had him set the flask down. The final results looked a syrupy purple.  
           “There should be an olive green potions bottle with a gold stopper among the things you brought,” said Fiona after Harry had set the flask down. “It’s labeled “Harmony,” she added helpfully. Harry rummaged around finally finding something that matched her description. It looked faintly familiar.  
           “This?” he questioned holding the bottle up.  
           “Yes. Remove the stopper.”  
           Harry did. To his surprise, the cork and stopper transfigured turning into a small gold spoon with a carved cork handle. The number “1” appeared in the bowl of the spoon. “That’s handy,” he commented. “Do you want one spoonful of Harmony in the flask too?”  
           “No,” she replied. “I just want the spoon. The cork/spoon is an invention of one of the new aurors who specializes in potions.”  
           “Paige?” whispered Harry involuntarily and he had this sudden image of the black-eyed girl with pale skin and long black hair holding a dusty potions bottle gingerly with two fingers. She was … Harry couldn’t place the location, but he was certain it was somewhere in the Black family mansion!!!  
           “Yes,” replied Fiona in a surprised sounding voice. “How did you know?”  
           “I don’t know,” replied Harry uncertainly, “but I did…” Auror names were rarely made public. How _had_ he known Paige was an auror? Why? He stared at the gold spoon hoping it would give him answers. What else did he know about Paige? She was a Slytherin; she’d won the potions contest a few years ago and later shared the House Cup with Albus. Why was she in his house?  
           “Hmmm,” said Fiona thoughtfully. “It seems as if Healer Winonan isn’t the only one with some memory problems!”  
           “He isn’t,” Harry admitted reluctantly.  
           “Do you know the cause?”  
           “I think so. It’s a memory charm of some sort placed in the _Prophet,_ ” Harry answered. It suddenly occurred to him that Fiona was the one person he could consult about the whole memory spell problem… “Phineas thinks it will wear off if I keep away from the _Prophet,_ ” Harry added. “What do you think?”  
           “I think you should keep away from the _Prophet_ too!” she replied decisively. “Give it a week or two and if it isn’t any better come back and see me!” Fiona told him.  
           “Yes, ma’am.”  
           “In the meantime, why don’t you give the flask and the spoon to your aunt,” Fiona ordered.  
           Harry looked up at Mrs. Wycliff. She still sat in the chair but there was now a small table besides her that contained a teapot, some teacups and a plate of tiny sandwiches. When had that happened? The sight of food caused Harry’s stomach to give a low rumble. It seemed like ages since he had last eaten. He took hold of the flask, stood, and carried both flask and spoon to Mrs. Wycliff. Harry placed them both on the table besides the tray of food.  
           “Thank you, Harry,” said Fiona. “You can go sit down now,” she added dismissing him.  
           “Mrs. Wycliff,” continued Fiona as Harry took the opportunity to grab a few sandwiches. “Could you order Winky to position me over your son again?” Harry saw Mrs. Wycliff nod at who promptly pointed an arm at the portrait as he turned. Harry saw the portrait move out of the corner of his eye as he retreated to the wall. He reached the wall turned and sat down leaning his back against the wall. When he next looked at Fiona’s portrait, it was floating over the head of the man in the cot. Harry stuffed one of the tiny sandwiches in his mouth, Tuna, from the taste of it, with the crust cut away. “That’s perfect,” approved Fiona. “Now, if you would get that pink pillow off the floor and use it to help prop up your son’s head and shoulders?”  
           Mrs. Wycliff stood and walked over to the pink pillow. Harry watched as she picked it up and took it over to the man in the bed. Rather than watch her struggle to sit up the stiff body, Harry looked randomly about the room. His eyes fell upon the mortar, still next to the wall. “Wait!” Harry called out. “You forgot the stuff in the mortar!” He reached out, grabbed the mortar and stood.  
           “No, I didn’t,” replied Fiona.  
           “But … I didn’t put any of it in the potion!” Harry protested.  
           “Of course not! The mixture in the mortar doesn’t belong in the potion.”  
           “So why have me do it?” Harry asked. Grinding up the red shells hadn’t been all that easy.  
           “To see if you could follow directions, of course!” retorted Fiona. “You don’t think I would trust anyone to mix up a potion for me without first testing that person, did you?”  
           “Uh, no, I guess not,” replied Harry uncertainly. He hadn’t given it much thought. “Glad I passed,” Harry muttered sitting back down on the floor with the mortar in hand. He looked inside the mortar. The mixture he had worked so hard on had turned into something resembling a light pink gelatinous goo. “Uh, was it really poisonous?” he asked curiously as he set the mortar back on the floor.  
           “No, but your reaction and precautionary measures were very reassuring. I needed to know you would take me seriously, follow directions completely without question and not take unnecessary risks or try to fiddle with the potions on your own... That’s a beautiful job propping your son up,” added Fiona talking to Mrs. Wycliff. “Now bring over that flask and spoon.”  
           “Um, thank you, I guess,” said Harry in a small voice to the non-listening portrait. He leaned back against the wall and shoved the other sandwich in his mouth. So much for being helpful. He watched as Mrs. Wycliff set both flask and spoon on the tiny table next to her son’s bed.  
           “Wh-what do you want me to do?” she questioned.  
           “I want you to give four spoonfuls of the potion to your son,” explained Fiona.  
           “Me?” squeaked Mrs. Wycliff, “But he’s de—”  
           “No, he’s not dead,” corrected Fiona firmly. “He’s just asleep. Very _soundly_ asleep and he won’t wake until you give him the potion.”  
           “But, I can’t…” protested Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “Of course you can,” assured Fiona. “You’ve probably given him cough medicine when he was younger; this is no different.” Fiona lowered her voice, “Actually, giving him this potion is very important Mrs. Wycliff; your son’s _life_ depends on it and I would rather you did it and did it right than try to direct a _house elf_ to do it, don’t you agree?”  
           “Uh… I don’t—”  
           “Just four tiny spoonfuls,” wheedled Fiona. “It’s quite easy, really,” she assured Mrs. Wycliff. “You can do it! Place the palm of your hand on his forehead and tip the head back a bit, that’s it!” she said approvingly after a moment. “See how his mouth just naturally opened? Now, fill the spoon with the potion and just slip the spoon and potion into his mouth as far as you can.”  
           “But what if it spills?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff in a quavery voice.  
           “Don’t you worry about that,” assured Fiona. “Accidents happen and there’s plenty of potion should some spill. But it won’t.” It suddenly occurred to Harry that the potion wouldn’t fall off no matter what—he wondered where that idea had come from…  
           “Very good,” came Fiona’s voice after a moment. “That was one. Now, just three more...”  
           Harry watched while Mrs. Wycliff refilled the spoon and repeated the operation three more times. Then he stared at the still form of Dudley for signs of life. He saw none.  
           “You did just fine,” assured Fiona to Mrs. Wycliff. “Now we do the same for your daughter-in-law.”  
           “He’s not moving,” said Mrs. Wycliff worriedly.  
           “Of course not,” replied Fiona confidently. “He’s not going to wake up immediately. He’s been asleep a long time. It will take a while before the potion works. So why don’t you tell Winky to move me over to your daughter-in-law so we can give her some potion while we wait,” she suggested.  
            Mrs. Wycliff nodded at Winky who promptly floated Fiona’s portrait over the next cot and then removed the pink pillow from underneath Dudley’s head. She briefly rearranged Dudley’s pillow before moving to the same cot.  
           “Four spoonfuls,” Fiona instructed while Mrs. Wycliff lifted up the daughter-in-law’s head and placed the pillow beneath it, “just like for your son.”  
           “That’s it,” murmured Fiona encouragingly after a moment. “Just three more…”  
           Harry stood up, walked over to the small table and got some more sandwiches. They were very small and he was feeling very hungry…  
           “Don’t eat them all, Harry” came Fiona’s voice stopping Harry mid-bite. “Your cousins are going to be very hungry when they wake up…” Harry hastily stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and reluctantly put down the other sandwich he had picked up. “And thirsty too,” continued Fiona, “perhaps a huge pitcher of water would be good…”  
           Suddenly a huge pitcher filled with water and five tumblers appeared on the tray. It looked very inviting, but Harry poured himself a cup of tea instead. A second tray suddenly appeared next to the first piled high with tiny sandwiches. Harry smiled. He took several sandwiches from the new tray and some biscuits from the plate that materialized next to it. Balancing all the food on the saucer and holding the teacup in his free hand Harry returned to the wall and sat down to eat. By this time, Mrs. Wycliff had moved on to the grandson and was propping his head up with the pink pillow.  
“Now, just give your grandson three spoonfuls of the potion,” instructed Fiona, whose portrait now hovered over his bed. “He’s younger and shouldn’t need as much,” she explained.  
           “Harry,” called out Fiona as Mrs. Wycliff measured the potion. “How certain are you that this is all Sir’s doing?  
           “Uh, what?” asked Harry taken by surprise by the question. “What do you mean?”  
           “Who’s Sir?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff after she had given her grandson the first spoonful.  
           “I mean it makes no sense that Sir should have gone to all the trouble to capture them, secrete them away and then let them die…” said Fiona ignoring Mrs. Wycliff’s question.  
           “Die?” echoed Harry in disbelief. “But they’re not dead…”  
           “No, but they should have been! They were left unattended for over two months! That’s as good as a death sentence given the limitations of the Draught of Death. Very good,” murmured Fiona to Mrs. Wycliff. “Just one more and then you’re all done!”  
           “Who’s Sir?” repeated Mrs. Wycliff as she measured out the last spoonful.  
           “Winky?” questioned Harry faintly while ignoring Mrs. Wycliff as well.  
           “Winky is a house elf not a healer,” replied Fiona. “I have never heard of a house elf doing what she has apparently done; if Sir wanted them alive he would not have relied on a house elf.”  
           “Holly?”  
           “I should think Holly would do it, _if_ she knew to do it, but then only if she were convinced they were alive in the first place and they were never revived, not once!”  
           “But it must have been Sir,” protested Harry. “The memory charm very plainly states “Forget Sir” and “Forget the Wycliffs.” _(And forget the Dursleys, whomever they were,)_ “Why else would it say that if Sir wasn’t up to something he did not want the rest of us to know about?”  
           “A very good question and I—”  
           Suddenly a loud crash interrupted their conversation. Harry looked at the source. A white vase lay shattered on the floor in front of him. Purple and orange zinnias lay scattered about. “If you don’t tell me who this “Sir” is this instant I’m going to throw this bottle in your _painted_ face!” fumed Mrs. Wycliff shaking the potion bottle in her hand at Fiona. The room went quiet, deathly quiet. A pin could have easily been heard landing had one fallen at that time.  
           Fiona drew herself up to her tallest height before speaking. “I do apologize for bringing this up in your presence, dear lady,” Fiona finally replied, “I misspoke; it’s rather clear that your son chose to keep certain details about his family, uh, private. As a healer, I cannot, in good conscience, breach that confidence. Besides, the person who did this is really of no consequence. The important part is making sure your family recovers properly…”  
           “In other words, you won’t answer my question,” interpreted Mrs. Wycliff bluntly.  
           “No. And I do hope you don’t plan to spill that potion on me,” Fiona added hurriedly. “We may need to give everyone a second dose…”  
           “I’m sure Harry can make more, if necessary,” retorted Mrs. Wycliff unsympathetically. “Harry!” she continued. “ _Who_ is Sir?”  
           “Can’t remember,” answered Harry automatically. Fiona was right; if this Dudley hadn’t told her about Sir then perhaps he shouldn’t either… Besides, all he knew about Sir was pretty much what he had read in the paper after the fact…  
           “Harry _James_ Potter, if you don’t tell me who this “Sir” is right now, you will be _very_ sorry!” Mrs. Wycliff threatened ominously.  
           Harry gulped. He had no idea what Mrs. Wycliff intended to do or could do, for that matter, but he did not want to find out. “Sir is apparently a very mean wizard who kidnapped Holly last year,” Harry answered. “Holly escaped, and so did Sir…”  
           Harry looked up at Fiona and shrugged helplessly. “I’m not a healer,” he reminded her while meeting Fiona’s accusing glare squarely. “Besides, she’s family,” he acknowledged, “and deserves to know.” It wasn’t fair to keep her in the dark after all this.  
           “That’s only if Sir did all this!” retorted Fiona angrily. “And I’m not so sure of that! Look at this room? Does it look like a prison cell to you?”  
           “No,” admitted Harry, “but who else could it be?” he argued.  
           “Why would Sir kidnap Holly?” questioned Mrs. Wycliff.  
           “He didn’t say,” replied Harry vaguely. He knew Holly was supposed to be an Empath but still wasn’t sure what that was or how it would be of value to any dark wizard.  
           “Your granddaughter is a very special person,” interjected Fiona. “Anyone would find her abilities very useful… Uh, that’s not to say that we are in the habit of doing that sort of thing… Really!”  
           “Hmmm,” snorted Mrs. Wycliff. “At least he didn’t lie about that!”  
           “What?”  
           “Dillon,” replied Mrs. Wycliff. “Last year he finally admitted Holly was going to Hogwarts and said that she was _special_. I think he left out a few things, don’t you?”  
           “Uh, yeah, maybe,” replied Harry cautiously. He had the feeling Dudley was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he woke up.  
           A loud cough suddenly intruded in Harry’s thoughts. He looked to the source and saw the body on the first bed, Dudley, jerk and spasm as it continued to cough. “Water!” he croaked, very much alive!  
           Harry gave a mental sigh of relief as Mrs. Wycliff hastened to pour him a glass of water. Intellectually he knew they had to be alive but it was reassuring to see signs of life.  
           “Here, Duddydums,” crooned Mrs. Wycliff.  
           Dudley grabbed the glass and downed the contents swiftly. “More!” he gasped handing the glass back to Mrs. Wycliff. She poured a second glass and handed it to him.  
           “What was that?” Dudley questioned after finishing the second glass. “It was awful!” He held out the glass for more.  
           “Never you mind,” dodged Mrs. Wycliff while taking the glass. “I’m so glad you’re alive!” She gave him a welcoming hug crushing his head to her chest.  
           “Well, yeah,” replied Dudley when she had released him. “Why wouldn’t I be? Wait a minute! Where am I?” And for the first time took in the surroundings. Harry did too. Winky was gone! Fiona’s portrait was leaning against a side wall—her image was frozen in place like a proper Muggle portrait.  
           **“What have you done, Harry!!?”** Dudley’s voice exploded in the room.  
           Harry gulped swallowing his instinctive retort with difficulty! “What do you last remember?” Harry asked instead deciding he did not like this Dudley person. Dudley sounded just like his mum!!! And like his mum, Dudley instantly blamed everything on Harry! What had he done to deserve such treatment???  
           “Uh,” Dudley paused. “This toff barged in and shouted he’d just been made a grandfather, to twins, and insisted we help him celebrate…” Dudley’s voice trailed off as he looked around again.  
           “How, um, how did you celebrate?” asked Harry cautiously.  
           “Nothing special,” replied Dudley. “He had this huge bottle of cider and some paper cups… What happened?” Dudley asked again.  
           “I’m not really sure,” admitted Harry, “but, um, I think you ran into someone named “Sir,” answered Harry carefully. Despite Fiona’s doubts, Harry just couldn’t believe there were two crazed villainous wizards chasing after Holly. Hopefully Dudley knew of Sir, even if his mum didn’t.  
Dudley’s face turned ashen. “Sir!” he echoed in disbelief. “It couldn’t be! He just looked like a harmless old duffer!”  
“It’s September, Dudley,” replied Harry calmly. Dudley seemed to shutter at the use of his name. “Have you a better explanation?”  
           Dudley’s face turned whiter, if possible. “No!” he exclaimed. “It can’t be!”  
           “But it _is,_ Duddydums,” assured Mrs. Wycliff. “I’ve been looking for you all summer and had to hunt for Harry to get it straightened out! I’ve been ever so worried!” she added.  
           “You could have told me about this Sir and Winky creature,” she scolded in a mild tone.  
           “Uh, yeah, mum, about that…” Dudley looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You see—”  
           Suddenly the person in the bed next to Dudley violently jerked and started to cough! “Water!” gasped a feminine voice. Mrs. Wycliff hastened to comply.  
           “Laurel? Laurel dear?” said Dudley as he sort of fell out of his bed and stumbled over to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked with obvious concern.  
           _“At least they seem to like each other,”_ thought Harry critically as he watched.  
           “More!” Laurel croaked after downing the glass of water Mrs. Wycliff handed her.  
           Harry briefly considered helping, fetching more water or something, but discarded the idea; Winky was not in sight but she was probably still around, most likely invisible. Harry had no desire to risk being hurled yet again against the back wall…  
           Mrs. Wycliff filled another glass, gave it to Dudley who handed it to Laurel. “Here,” he told her.  
           “Wha-what happened?” Laurel whispered between gulps of water. “Where are we?”  
           “Um, I think there was something in that cider we drank…” Dudley finally said opting to answer easier question.  
           “There was?” she questioned. Dudley nodded. “But why?” Laurel’s eyes moved around the room. They widened briefly when they saw Harry. “Mr. Potter?” she asked obviously seeking a more detailed explanation.  
           _“Not on a first name basis but polite,”_ observed Harry silently. _“Interesting.”_ Aloud he said, “Um, I don’t know why,” he replied. She continued to stare at him expectantly. Harry sighed. “Long story short,” he added, “you’re alive and it’s September.”  
           “September?” she whispered in surprise.  
           “Yeah, September,” confirmed Harry. “And I really don’t know what happened from then to now as I only found out about all this yesterday.”  
           “Sir?” she questioned almost fearfully.  
           “Yeah, it looks like it,” admitted Harry.  
           “But you said that was all over!”  
           _“I had?”_ questioned Harry mentally. _“When? Why?”_ What else had happened last year he didn’t know about? “I guess I was wrong,” admitted Harry aloud.  
           “A—gain…” growled Dudley.  
           _“Again?!!!”_ thought Harry in surprise. What else had he done?  
           “People make mistakes,” murmured Laurel softly.  
           “Yeah, but when Harry does it, it’s major!” retorted Dudley.  
           “Like returning to Privet Drive wasn’t?” she countered mildly.  
           “You went to Privet Drive?” interrupted Mrs. Wycliff before Dudley could respond to Laurel. “How was it?”  
           “It was a, a _nightmare!_ ” snapped Dudley.  
           “But of course it was a nightmare, dear,” replied Mrs. Wycliff calmly. “They assured us everything would be fine when we left but they never do tell the truth, not really.” She managed to look accusingly at Harry as she spoke.  
           “No, mum, it wasn’t that,” protested Dudley, “it’s just that—”  
           The third body suddenly exploded in a spasm of coughing. _“That would be Vernon,”_ thought Harry remembering the image of the son he had seen in the photo.  
           Mrs. Wycliff hastened to get him some water before he had even asked.  
           Harry used the time to ponder the new bits of information he had learned. What had happened at Privet Drive? Did it involve him? Was it something he should know about? Where was it anyway? Should he know? Harry again cursed his missing memories.  
           “Hullo,” said Vernon after water had been drunk, explanations made and his eyes had lit upon Harry.  
           “Vernon,” acknowledged Harry briefly with a nod of his head. _“The boy’s voice sounded actually friendly!”_ thought Harry with surprise. How had that happened? Harry suddenly wanted to meet this Holly whose existence had bound them together after all this time. He regretted not remembering her from before—before Sir and whatever Sir had probably done to her.  
           “Holly’s not in the fourth bed,” Harry announced abruptly.  
           “Huh?” Husband, wife and son looked at Harry in surprise.  
           “Holly’s not in the fourth bed,” repeated Harry. He suddenly didn’t want them to find out about Mrs. Wycliff’s deception and accusations.  
           “That’s true,” agreed the grandmother hastily without further explanation. “Harry said that you could find her once you woke, Dillon” she added.  
           Dudley’s eyes narrowed. He took a staggering step towards the empty bed. His legs didn’t seem to work too well; no doubt an after-affect of two months of inactivity. “Winky!” he shouted while leaning heavily on the bed. Winky appeared without a sound.  
           _“No “crack,”_ thought Harry as Winky lifted her head and ears in anticipation of a command. Yep, she had been invisible and waiting all right.  
           “Fetch Holly!”


	6. Chapter 6

          Winky returned with someone clutched at the wrist. She had very short hair, wore some sort of lime green dressing gown and was holding a towel, apparently in the process of drying her hands. The towel slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor as she took in her new surroundings. From his vantage point, Harry could only see the girl’s back, but the relief and recognition on Dudley’s face pretty much confirmed it was indeed Holly.  
           “Holly?” said Dudley in a soft voice. “Holly baby? It’s O.K. now,” he told her. “Everything’s O.K.” Dudley held out his arms and took a step forward and collapsed! Dudley landed on the floor in a heap in front of Holly. But instead of bending down to assist him, Holly took several steps backwards avoiding his falling body. Her eyes fell on Winky and she began to scream! It was loud, piercing and nonstop!  
           Mrs. Wycliff (grandmum) hurried over to Holly’s side. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”  
           Holly continued to scream pushing her grandmum aside with flailing arms and fists. Mrs. Wycliff landed in the purple chair, which slid under her seat as she fell. Holly screamed some more and kept on backing up until she crashed into the wall behind her. Then she slid down the wall away from her grandmum stopping only when she reached the corner and could slide away no farther. While still screaming, Holly sank to her knees, clutched them and tucked her head under her arms making herself into a tight ball and rocked back and forth.  
           Stunned by the rebuff, Mrs. Wycliff (Grandmum) made no further attempt to touch Holly, but continued to call out, “What’s wrong, Holly? Everything’s fine now!”  
           After what seemed an eternity, the screaming stopped—Harry knew it would; she had to stop for a breath eventually. Mrs. Wycliff’s words could be heard in the silence.  
           “What is it?” she asked again. “What’s wrong? Everything’s fine dear,” she assured.  
           Holly lifted her head from her arms and looked fearfully about. As soon as she saw Winky, Holly shuttered and tucked her head in her arms again. A stream of unintelligible sounds issued from Holly’s lips. “Vrg klrupt gwòwl klazet brrk!” she moaned softly as she rocked.  
           “What?”  
           “Tlpti quilld lxuik nrild borrzt wlxye?” she said louder.  
           “I don’t understand you, dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Wycliff. “What’s wrong with her?” she added looking at Harry. Harry shook his head in confusion. He had no idea. He stood and stretched then walked over to Dudley. Harry bent down and picked up the towel Holly had dropped. He looked at it briefly and then walked over to Holly. He squatted down so he was nearly eye level should she look up.  
           “Hey!” he said softly. “Remember me?”  
           Holly looked up at Harry. Her green eyes glistened; her face was wet with tears.  
           “Vrrst wtyoyl juwrlz mlrreg crowlf xbrld hurk!” she said. There was no recognition in her face.  
           “Yeah,” Harry whispered softly, “I don’t remember you either.” He looked again at the towel in his hand. “Send her back,” he said louder so Dudley could hear.  
           “What!!! But Sir—”  
           “Sir doesn’t have her,” Harry told Dudley. “Uh didn’t,” amended Harry. Of that Harry was certain; Holly was useless to him this way.  
           “But surely Sir did this!” Dudley protested.  
           “Probably,” agreed Harry “But Sir doesn’t have her. Not now, anyway.” He tossed the towel to Dudley for his inspection. Monogrammed in bright blue letters were the words: Meadowsgate Lodge. “She doesn’t remember us,” Harry added softly. “To her, this is a _kidnapping_ not a rescue Du-Dillon. Is this how you want your daughter to think of you? Send her back. We can always find her later once we figure out how to fix this…”  
           Dudley stared at the towel thoughtfully and finally nodded slowly. Winky,” he began…  
           Harry looked back at Holly. “Close your eyes,” he told her, “and it’ll be O.K.”  
           Holly closed her eyes. “Hulrt woply,” she whispered as Winky took hold of Holly’s wrist; the two vanished with a loud _“crack!”_

**********

          After Holly and Winky left, Harry suggested they all leave the “room” and find someplace more familiar to regroup and plan things. Mrs. Wycliff, (grandmum) agreed immediately saying she had a “pressing” need to use the loo. The “loo” being one thing conspicuously absent from the “room.” After that, it was a matter of determining where…  
           Dudley wanted to get back to his home; Harry vetoed that immediately! “Sir has your luggage!” Harry reminded Dudley. “He knows where you live!”  
           “But I thought we were “unplottable!” retorted Dudley.  
           “You are?” questioned Harry in surprise. “Who told you that?” Places, not people were unplottable.  
           “You did!” growled Dudley.  
           “Oh,” gulped Harry. Had he? How had he come up with that line? Why? “But it doesn’t matter,” insisted Harry aloud. “He has your luggage and once he realizes you’ve escaped, your house will be the first place he looks.”  
           “Well, they can’t come to my place,” commented Mrs. Wycliff (grandmum.) “Your father uh, still doesn’t know about Holly and Hogwarts!” she explained to Dudley.  
           “He doesn’t?” echoed Harry in disbelief.  
           “Of course not,” replied Mrs. Wycliff in a reasonable voice. “No point in unnecessarily raising his blood pressure was there? I mean he knows I went to London looking for our babies, but not where I intended to look. The room I rented in London is way too small for the family…” she added thoughtfully. “What about that flat you rented Harry?” she asked. “It was empty and rather large…”  
           “And unfurnished,” reminded Harry.  
           “I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Mrs. Wycliff said smoothly. “That thing can transport all these things there. And Vernon can use my laptop to look into this Meadowsgate place.” Vernon nodded in agreement.  
           “No,” said Dudley decisively. “I don’t want any of this stuff around me—its, uh, contaminated!”  
           “Nonsense!” argued Mrs. Wycliff. “I don’t know how you managed to do it, but as long as you have it, I think you should use it!” She had this predatory look about her face.  
           “Are you crazy?” exclaimed Dudley horrified. “There is only one reason why I have it, and that is to keep my children safe! Winky!” Dudley suddenly shouted. Winky promptly appeared with a loud _“crack!”_ She looked at Dudley hopefully. “You are not to obey any orders my mum gives, ever! Do you understand?”  
           Winky’s ears flopped a bit but she nodded her head. “Do you understand?” Dudley repeated. Winky nodded again.  
           “That’s rather selfish of you!” said Mrs. Wycliff petulantly.  
           “You’re the one worried about father’s blood pressure,” retorted Dudley.  
           “True,” she admitted, “but things change…”  
           “And swore that you and father would have none of that nonsense in your house ever again…” continued Dudley  
           “But that would mean turning out our own dear Holly, and you wouldn’t want me to do that would you?” protested Mrs. Wycliff mildly.     “Besides, how do you expect me to rescue you again should you need it with that kind of order?”  
           “Well,” relented Dudley, “unless it’s to rescue us, O.K.?”  
           Winky nodded. But Dudley was not satisfied. “Answer me!” he demanded.  
           “It did,” retorted Mrs. Wycliff in annoyance as Winky nodded again. “What more do you expect?” she added. “It can’t speak, you know.”  
           “Of course it can speak,” replied Dudley. “Answer me using words!” he persisted while addressing Winky.  
           “Yes, master,” replied Winky in her high squeaky voice.  
          “It _does_ speak!” said Mrs. Wycliff in surprise. “Why weren’t you speaking before?”  
           In response, Winky swung her head towards Dudley expectantly. Dudley noted the glance and said, “Answer her!”  
           “I is _ordered_ not to speak,” Winky replied drawing herself up to her full height.  
           “Ordered?” questioned Dudley curiously. “By whom?”  
           “Miss Holly.”  
           Everyone looked at Winky in surprise.  
           “Holly?” echoed Harry.  
           “What did she order?” asked Dudley.  
           “Exactly,” added Harry knowing wording was everything to an elf.  
           “Uh, yeah, exactly,” confirmed Dudley.  
           “Miss Holly called me and she said, “Protect my family!” Then she said, _“Tell_ no one; _trust_ no one, _and don’t ever come if I call!_ Now, _go!”_ So I go!” concluded Winky.  
           “What happened next?” questioned Harry. Winky looked again at Dudley.  
           “Yeah,” he confirmed, “what he said.”  
           “I protects my family,” Winky said softly. “But they don’t wake up, not once until you wake them!” Winky concluded on a happy note looking at Mrs. Wycliff (grandmum) with adoring eyes.  
           “Yes, well, I had some help,” admitted Mrs. Wycliff grudgingly…  
           Harry stared at Winky but he wasn’t seeing Winky; he was seeing a train car with the Wycliffs within. “He had you!” Harry whispered aloud. “He saw you, recognized you and gave you the cider. He had you! But then … he didn’t have you … because … you,” Harry looked at Winky, _“protected…“_ Harry added in disbelief. “I thought Sir had you all this time,” continued Harry looking at Dudley, “but it was Winky—this place isn’t a prison of Sir’s creation,” he concluded softly. “You did it, didn’t you?” he asked Winky. Winky didn’t answer but her ears drooped guiltily. “You did good,” Harry added somehow knowing Winky wouldn’t receive the appreciation she deserved from the Wycliffs.  
           “What about Holly?” questioned Laurel.  
           “Holly got away somehow,” concluded Harry. “She had to have! Not before Sir messed her up magically but she still managed to get away… Then I guess Sir put a memory charm in the paper so we wouldn’t help…” mused Harry aloud. The Wycliffs had slipped through his fingers and Sir would assume they were dead by now. Harry gave a short laugh. “All this time I worried that Sir was brainwashing Holly when in fact he could have just been _looking_ for her!” He turned his green eyes on Mrs. Wycliff. “You can’t go back to wherever you stayed last night,” he told her.  
           “What?”  
           “Everyone at King’s Cross station heard you talking to me,” Harry added explaining. “Sir was probably there too! Watching! Maybe he was hoping you’d enlist my help to do exactly what you’ve done! There’s a good chance he followed you after you left yesterday and is even now waiting for your return…”  
           “That’s ridiculous!” exclaimed Mrs. Wycliff. “I saw no one suspicious…”  
           “Neither did we,” said Dudley suddenly. “I have to agree with Harry on this,” he added.  
           “But—”  
           “I always thought I’d recognize any of, of Harry’s lot,” Dudley added, “but you tell me it’s September.” He swallowed. “Mum, I really don’t want you to wake up in October…”  
           After further discussion a location, date and time was settled upon where the group would again meet. Fiona had stubbornly remained still while in the presence of the Wycliff family so Harry insisted he also needed time to research the symptoms of whatever condition Holly had... Then Harry handed all his Muggle money to Dudley imploring the family to go someplace “new,” re-bagged the potions, collected Fiona’s portrait and Apparated out.

**********

          “That was the _Confringo Communicado_ curse!” exploded Fiona as soon as they had materialized outside of the Purge and Dowse Ltd. Building. “I’m sure it was!”  
           “It is, ah, was?” questioned Harry looking down at the portrait in his hand. “Why didn’t you say so?”  
           “And unnecessarily reveal myself to those other Muggles? Of course not!” retorted Fiona. “Besides, the curse doesn’t give amnesia too, so I‘m not positive… Use the back entrance, Harry,” she instructed. “It’s more private!”  
           “There’s a back entrance?” questioned Harry in surprise. He was planning to use his invisibility cloak in hopes of attracting less attention…  
           “Yes, of course. Can’t you remember anything?” she added impatiently.  
           “Not really,” admitted Harry while wondering why he would know about a back entrance to St. Mungo’s. “Which way?”  
           “To your left and around the corner,” Fiona replied. Harry obediently lifted the bag in one hand and portrait with the other and started down the sidewalk. “Do hurry,” Fiona added. “I don’t like being out in the open like this. Lucky for you there’s no one else in the streets right now.”  
           “So, what is this _Confringo_ curse?” asked Harry as he walked.  
           “A very insidious curse wizards used to use on each other. It’s terribly illegal, you know!”  
           “It is?”  
           “Yes, you see, once cast, the victim loses his or her _physical_ capacity to communicate with others—verbal, written, anything! She can’t ask others for help and even her wand becomes useless, most spells being spoken, you see. It’s a very nasty curse; the cursed one’s mind is fine; but no matter what he or she tries to do to alert others to her problem, it all comes out wrong! The hapless victim must to find someone who can recognize the curse for what it is and remove the curse or be forever doomed to live without communication. I’ve only heard about it, you understand,” Fiona added informatively, “I’ve never actually _seen_ someone under the curse! There should be some heavy metal double doors with a chain and padlock,” she added when Harry rounded the corner.  
           “What do you do about it?” questioned Harry.  
           “There’s a counter spell to it somewhere,” replied Fiona, “but that’s Spell Reversals department. Wizards quit using _Confringo Communicado_ after they started teaching silent spell casting at Hogwarts. Silent spell casting enables a victim with a wand to get around the curse making it possible for him or her to break the curse and/or get proper help.”  
           “Uh, how do I open it?” questioned Harry when he saw the door and padlock.  
           “There’s a big key that we use when opening it in front of the Muggles, but _“Alohomora!”_ works fine,” replied Fiona. “It’s not like anyone can get in much farther than this without me…”  
           _“Muggles?”_ wondered Harry. _“It’s a Muggle entrance? To St. Mungo’s?”_ but he didn’t ask aloud. Harry put down the bag of potions and leaned the portrait carefully against the nearby wall. Then he drew out his wand.  
           _“Alohomora!”_ whispered Harry as he pointed his wand. The padlock snapped open with a loud “thwunk.”  
           Harry pocketed his wand and used his hands to work the padlock free of the thick rusty chain links it had held together. The chain had fastened together the metal handles of two huge metal doors. One link fell out and the chain end swung free striking one of the solid metal doors with a loud “clank.” Harry jumped at the sound and looked apprehensively around to see if anyone else had noticed. The street still appeared empty. Leaving the other chain end still hooked to the lock, Harry gently released both lock and chain so they hung quietly down from one of the door handles. Then he cautiously grabbed the other door handle and gave it a tug. It didn’t move. Harry applied both hands to the handle and pulled applying greater and greater effort until the door began to move. It creaked and groaned every millimeter of the way but Harry finally got the door open wide enough to fit through. Standing in the doorway so it couldn’t close, Harry reached out and picked up Fiona’s portrait. He carefully slid the portrait past his body and through the opened doorway. Then he gently leaned the portrait against the inside surface of the unopened door. Next, Harry lifted a huge bulky bag filled with potions and supplies. He carefully shifted the bag and its contents through the opening and stepped forward permitting the heavy door to close behind him. It slammed shut with a loud ominous “bang!”  
           Harry stood still a moment so his eyes could adjust to the dim lighting. Eventually he could see that he was at the end of a rather plain hallway with doors on either side. The doors were partially opened, but everything seemed silent and still. Harry turned. He picked up the portrait with one hand, the bag with the other and started walking down the corridor. His footsteps seemed to echo and sounded extraordinarily loud to Harry’s ear. Harry had no idea how the corridor connected up with St. Mungo’s or how Fiona was _needed_ to get into the rest of St. Mungo’s but didn’t ask trusting that Fiona would tell him whatever he needed to know… Harry’s numbed mind was so overloaded with information he “should have already known” that he could only hope he _remembered_ whatever he had learned today, tomorrow…  
           “I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself!”  
           Harry froze. “Uh, Dean,” he said blankly. He turned to look at the person comfortably seated just inside one of the opened doors. “What are you doing here?”  
           “Waiting for you,” he answered bluntly. Dean Thomas was a friend of Harry’s dating back to their time together at Hogwarts but he was also head of Magical Law Enforcement. “Whatever possessed you to do such a cockamamie thing?” Dean added. “Assaulting a healer? Theft? And stealing a portrait?! You’ve got to be out of your mind!!!”  
           Harry gulped. “I mean, what are you doing _here?”_ he questioned avoiding Dean’s accusations. He had no answer for them. _“I_ didn’t even know I’d be here!”  
           Dean blinked. “Your wife!” he answered. “She was sure you would try to return stuff as soon as possible and by a back way if such a thing existed. I guess she knows you pretty well. What’s going on? Gin wouldn’t say but you’ve never done anything as outlandish as this before without good reason.  
           Harry set down both bag and portrait carefully keeping the portrait upright in his hand. “It’s a long story,” he replied.  
           “How about the condensed version,” persisted Dean. “There’s a lot of people out for your blood right now, and I can’t say as I blame them.”  
           “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I tried.”  
           “Try anyway,” insisted Dean. “I can’t help you otherwise. When Rita prints this up the whole community will be out for blood!”  
           “Rita?” said Harry suddenly with a sense of panic. “Rita knows?”  
           “Of course she knows,” retorted Dean. “Knows something anyway. You have any idea what a commotion it caused to free Winonan? You didn’t think you could keep this one a secret did you, Harry?”  
           “No, I guess not,” admitted Harry reluctantly. “But you’ve got to stop Rita from printing anything about this!” Harry persisted. “If Sir finds out what I’ve done…”  
           “Sir? Who’s Sir?” questioned Dean. “What about you? I can’t help you on this, Harry unless you tell me what’s going on!”  
           Harry straightened. “I didn’t ask for your help,” he reminded Dean stiffly. “I did it; I don’t deny it and I’m not running anywhere. Arrest me if you must. I won’t resist. But, uh,” Harry paused. “I would appreciate it if you could find some way to _delay_ things a couple days… That would give me time to figure a few things out…”  
           “So you’re not going to tell me anything…” interpreted Dean.  
           “Uh, no, not now,” admitted Harry. “Things are still kind of fluid… Honestly, I’m not really sure what’s going on…”  
           Dean studied Harry closely, considering his words. “Gin said it was important…” he finally said. “Is it?”  
           “Oh, yes,” breathed Harry fervently. “More than you can imagine. But I just can’t explain, not yet.”  
           Dean stared at Harry for a long time. Harry looked back determined to accept whatever happened. Finally Dean sighed. He stood up. “All right,” he said with resignation. “I’ll see what I can do…”  
           Harry felt his whole body sag with relief. “Thanks,” he said with emotion.  
           Dean walked forward. “Stay here,” he told Harry as he lifted the bag of potion supplies. “Given the state of things, I think I can do better talking _without_ you present.”  
           “I’ll help!” piped up Fiona suddenly when Dean took the portrait from Harry’s hands.  
           “You will?” questioned Dean with surprise. “That could make a big difference… Don’t go anywhere!” he ordered Harry and started down the corridor.  
         Harry sat down heavily in the chair Dean had vacated. He felt so utterly exhausted, overwhelmed by the events of the day. He tried to think of what needed to be done next. If Dean took him into custody, Ginny would have to work with the Wycliffs to get the curse off Holly and the girl back home. Did they know her? Harry had no idea. He could tell Ginny where to meet them and when, but beyond that, well, Harry was confident Ginny would figure a way. He would probably also need a solicitor. Anthony Goldstein was a Solicitor, Harry suddenly remembered. Anthony had once been a member of Dumbledore’s Army. Perhaps Anthony would agree to represent him…  
           After what seemed an eternity, Harry heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. He looked up. Dean had returned. His face looked grim; Harry braced himself for the worst. “You’re in luck, Harry,” Dean told him. “The hospital has decided to not press charges.” Relief seemed to wash over Harry like a tidal wave. Dean continued. “It seems hospital management is not interested in advertising its, ah, _shortcomings_ to the rest of the community. Of course, you _do_ owe Winonan a sincere apology and should make a very _generous_ donation to the Hospital fund by the end of the week…” Dean pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Harry. “I suggested this amount,” Dean told Harry as he unfolded the paper. “But you can always give more if the spirit moves you… I wouldn’t recommend less, though.”  
           Harry winced mentally at the figure written on the page but nodded in agreement. “Thanks,” he told Dean while folding the paper back up and tucking it into his pocket. “I owe you one.”  
           “And I intend to collect—sooner than not!”  
           A second set of footsteps alerted Harry to the arrival of another person. He looked at the source of the sound and saw Healer Winonan coming forward. He was carrying what appeared to be a basic black Muggle Doctor’s medical bag. Harry stood hastily at his arrival.  
Healer Winonan was short yet somehow he managed to stare at Harry sternly in his eyes. Harry looked boldly back. “I said I was sorry,” he reminded the Healer, “and I meant it. I hope you didn’t have to suffer too long…”  
           Winonan snorted. “I wouldn’t be agreeing to any of this,” he began, “If everything hadn’t been returned in undamaged condition!”  
           “Sorry,” repeated Harry. “But it was important…”  
           “That does _not_ excuse your unorthodox methods!” Winonan chastised. “And despite Fiona’s assurances that you made no attempt to touch the potion supplies except under her direct supervision, I _still_ would have pressed charges except for this…” He unclasped the Doctor’s bag, reached in, pulled out a flat box and handed it to Harry. Harry took the box in his hands and looked at it curiously. The box was wine red with a gold filigree “W” inscribed on the top. It looked like one of the more expensive boxes sold at Weasley’s. Harry looked at Winonan questioningly.  
           “Open it,” Winonan instructed. Harry did. Inside were rows and rows of small potion bottles. Harry pulled out one of the bottles. It was labeled “headache.” He returned the bottle and pulled out another. It said: “stomachache;” a third said: “migraine” and the fourth said: “heart attack.” Harry replaced the bottle and again looked questioningly at Winonan.  
           “Sample Symptoms!” he told Harry. “It’s a very useful training tool for Empaths. Except there shouldn’t be any Empaths in training right now, none that I know of. Fiona says I ordered it for Holly and put it aside for later when it became clear she had too many other medical issues to deal with.”  
           _Holly had medical issues? What kind?_  
           “I don’t remember a “Holly Wycliff,” Winonan admitted, “and there’s no medical paperwork anywhere bearing that name. But look at the date!” Harry found a date on the inside of the lid. “That’s two years ago!” continued Winonan without waiting for a response from Harry. “The only Empath I know about completed her education ages ago… Yet I have this box. Why else would I have ordered it?”  
           Healer Winonan took the box from Harry and put it back into his bag. “You look tired, Mr. Potter,” he said in a professional tone. “Get some rest tonight and I expect you back in my office bright and early tomorrow morning for a complete physical!”  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Harry.  
           “You should leave the way you came,” Winonan added. “Otherwise you’ll run into Rita.”  
           “Rita!” exclaimed Harry with sudden concern. “What about Rita?”  
           “Don’t worry,” put in Dean. “She thinks the hospital has been running a Security Drill all day…”  
           “Security Drill?”  
           “Yes, you know, suppose some crazed fanatic (whose name I won’t mention) should try to break in and steal potions or something—how quickly would the medical personnel react and what would they do? I’m here handling the Magical Law Enforcement side, of course. There’ll be a report filed later on with recommendations and such. Word has gone out that we were trying to make the drill scenario as realistic as possible, which explains why Rita wasn’t informed earlier…” Dean grinned. “Rather inspired, don’t you think?”  
           “Uh, yeah,” agreed Harry. “It is. Thanks!”  
           “That’s _two_ you owe me,” replied Dean cheerfully. “How soon can I collect?” There was an edge to his voice letting Harry know he was serious.  
           “I’ll let you know…”

 


	7. Chapter 7

          “Five points from Gryffindor,” said Professor Lovegood serenely. The whole class murmured its approval. “This is not the time or place to discuss holiday decorations,” she added blandly while turning her silvery eyes, obscured by oversized rust coloured autumn leafed shaped glasses, onto Conner.  
           “But—” began Conner Fitzpatrick; then he stopped catching the unsupportive glares of the rest of the students. “Yes, ma’am,” Conner said instead and closed his book loudly with frustration. What was the use? He hadn’t been talking about Christmas decorations at all; didn’t anybody get it?  
           “Please remain after class, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” said Professor Lovegood promptly. The Slytherin students immediately began to snicker but stopped short when they caught Professor Lovegood’s eyes.  
           “We shall begin O.W.L preparation by reviewing the basic skills you should have learned in previous years,” continued Professor Lovegood, “and then move on to the new material which will also be included in the exams. If you will turn to the back page of your text you will find a list of all the spells for which you will be responsible for during an O.W.L. exam…”  
           The students immediately opened their book turning to the last page, all except Conner. He had quit listening. He had no intention of taking the O.W.L. and was busy making other plans. He could do nothing at Hogwarts; how did one “quit?” Hadn’t George Weasley quit during his fifth year or was that Mr. Potter’s fifth? Conner vaguely remembered hearing something about that mentioned at one of his dinners with the Potters last year… Conner could write and ask Mr. Weasley what he did… Then he would have to find a place to stay… He didn’t want to stay with his parents any longer than necessary; that was too dangerous. Was Hogsmeade, or Diagon Alley better for a base of operations? Or should he select some area totally non-wizard… Conner started mentally drafting a letter to his family to inform them of his decisions…  
           A sudden loud rush of noise brought Conner’s attention back to the present. The other students were leaving. Conner hastily put his book in his bag—and discovered the bag’s interior gooey and wet—filled with Flobberworm mucus! _Yeech!_ He heard the Slytherins snickering. Conner stood angrily—or rather tried to stand! Somebody had undone one of his shoelaces and tied it and him to the chair! Great!  
           “Why stand?” questioned Richards nastily. “You’re supposed to _stay_ after class!” He laughed and left the room quickly along with the rest of the Slytherins. Conner muttered several obscenities as he untangled his leg and then proceeded to clean out his bag—it was a major mess!  
           “I’ll, uh, meet you outside,” said Albus rather guiltily.  
           “Don’t bother,” replied Conner as he surveyed his ruined manga books! “You’ll be late to class and lose more house points.” As far as Conner was concerned, Albus was part of the problem but unwilling to admit to it.  
           The room cleared out and the classroom door closed. Conner set his bag on the table and then turned to face Professor Lovegood. “I don’t care what you or anyone else says Holly Wycliff _exists!”_ he said fiercely.  
           Though Conner had sat with the Gryffindors on the Hogwarts Express, he had ignored everyone while he read his latest manga, a stack of books given to him as a good-bye gift from his parents. Conner returned to reading during the sorting ceremony and continued to read late into the night. Conner didn’t stop reading until his first class began… Then Conner looked around at the fellow students and noticed Holly was missing... He wasn’t able to make inquiries until lunch when Albus looked blankly at Conner and said, “Who?”  
           Conner spent the rest of the day trying to convince Albus he had a cousin named Holly. Rose, Hugo, Professor Longbottom and the rest of the Gryffindors were no help—all agreeing with Albus that there was no Hufflepuff cousin. After dinner, Conner asked Becky and Mark about Holly. They looked just as blankly at Conner as Albus had and walked away to do their homework. Headmistress McGonagall flatly informed Conner that no such person as Holly Wycliff ever existed. Conner then sent an owl to Mr. Potter—someone had to know what happened! He had gotten no response. The next day, not only did no one remember Holly, they even denied Conner had been asking about her the previous day!  
           Professor Lovegood removed her autumn leaf glasses and set them on her desk. Then she fixed her silvery eyes directly on Conner. “Have you been reading the _Daily Prophet_?” she asked.  
           “What?” asked Conner disconcerted by her question. “I, ah, no, I haven’t,” he admitted. “But what’s that got to do wi—”  
           “Then you need to decide whether you value your memories more than the latest news report.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “And whatever you decide you must _never ever_ mention the name of Holly Wycliff again.”  
           “Why?” Conner questioned bluntly.  
           “Because then _Sir_ might learn that some of us know more of his activities than he thinks we do.”

  
********

          Much later Conner stepped out of the classroom. He found Albus sitting on the floor near the door. Albus folded up the paper he was reading and looked up expectantly. “Well?” he questioned. “Everything O.K.?”  
           “Yeah,” said Conner briefly. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go ahead!”  
           Albus shrugged. “I’m used to losing house points” he told Conner as he stood, “and I don’t much like Potions anyway. I’m done with the _Prophet_ ,” Albus added. “You want to read it next? There’s some pretty good articles in it this time.” He held out the paper to Conner.  
           “Uh, no thanks,” said Conner looking at the paper as if it was contaminated. “I’ve got too much else to do…”  
           “O.K.,” said Albus and he shoved the paper in his bag. “Let’s get to class…”

**********

          Wizard Daniel Pilkington, Solicitor, stood silently against the wall in the corridor watching the other wizards pass by. He hoped this plan would work. If not, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. Finally, Daniel saw the person for whom he was waiting. Daniel took a deep breath, readjusted the small red carnation boutonniere he wore on his chest one last time, the latest addition of the Official Ministry uniform, and took a step forward positioning himself directly in front of the man.  
           “Excuse me, sir, Mr. Potter sir?” began Daniel in the voice of an uncertain junior official unused to speaking to famous people. “But, uh, I’ve a message from Wizard Thomas…”  
           Mr. Potter stopped and scrutinized Daniel from head to foot. “Wizard Pilkington, isn’t it?” he questioned.  
           “Yes,” affirmed Daniel immediately dropping the Junior Official “voice.” Even if they had never met formally Mr. Potter had sat in the courtroom every day during Paige Crowley’s lawsuit against Witch Umbridge so it was logical that he would recognize Daniel. “Your meeting with Mr. Thomas has been moved for security reasons,” continued Daniel smoothly. “I’m to take you to the new place… He said you’d understand… If you’ll follow me…” Daniel backed up so Mr. Potter could follow.  
           “No,” said Mr. Potter calmly.  
           “What?”  
           “No. I have no intention of following you,” said Mr. Potter firmly. “Dean uses Ministry employees to send his messages of which you are not.” He stared accusingly at the boutonniere Daniel wore as if it had been used to imply Daniel was a Ministry employee…  
           “Usually, yes,” agreed Daniel without missing a beat. “But not always. I happened to be in the right place and time and I’m very reliable… He said it was important…”  
           “To whom?” questioned Mr. Potter. “I already said “no” to your fancy invitation to “tea.” That answer hasn’t changed just because I now see you in person or you seem to meet me with Dean’s approval… Now, if it’s really important, Dean knows where to find me. You can tell him that. Good day.”  
           “Mr. Potter, sir,” persisted Daniel hurrying to catch up with Mr. Potter. “I just need a bit of your time, please! It’s about the,” Daniel thought rapidly, then lowered his voice, “St. Mungo’s.”  
           Mr. Potter stopped mid-stride. “What?” he asked looking directly at Daniel.  
           “St. Mungo’s,” repeated Daniel with more confidence. “You were there the same day as that Security Check. It’s probably a coincidence connected to the fact you didn’t see your children off at the Hogwarts Express the day before, but if I tell Rita, she’ll probably put her usually nasty spin on the info, blow it all out of proportion and create a whole stack of unwanted publicity… I don’t want to tell Rita anything, Mr. Potter,” Daniel added, “truly, but I’ve got to talk with you. It’s important. Ten minutes,” Daniel added. “It’s all I ask.”  
           Mr. Potter looked at Daniel appraisingly. “False representation, blackmail, forgery… I could get you thrown out of the Ministry right now!”  
           “Probably,” agreed Daniel though he really wasn’t part of the Ministry, “but it’s worth the risk if we can talk first. It’s that important. Please!”  
           “Very well,” said Mr. Potter, “you shall have your ten minutes.”  
           “But not here,” said Daniel.  
           “Where?” asked Mr. Potter, immediately suspicious.  
           “My office, of course,” replied Daniel cheerfully. “It’s not far from here.” In a louder voice, one that could be heard by other people in the corridor, he added, “I believe I saw Wizard Thomas in the courtroom. I’m headed in that direction if you’d like to join me…” He moved purposefully down the corridor.  
           “I suppose,” agreed Mr. Potter reluctantly and began to follow Daniel. He soon caught up with Daniel and matched his speed stride for stride.  
           “You run some sort of charity ball every year, don’t you?” asked Mr. Potter as they turned a corner.  
           “Yes,” agreed Daniel cheerfully. “I operate as a Solicitor at Large, Amicus Curiae and Amicus Opibus and provide my services free of charge to those in need. The Ball finances my efforts.” Promote whenever possible…  
           “You trying to sell tickets?”  
           “Always,” confirmed Daniel. “But that’s not why I wished to speak with you. Ah, here’s my office” Daniel added as he stopped in front of a heavy wood door bearing his name. Using his wand, Daniel rapidly unlocked the door, opened it and stepped aside to permit Mr. Potter to enter first.  
           Mr. Potter stared suspiciously at the tiny room. Daniel’s office actually had an extendable charm on it so could expand to larger sizes to accommodate more people but some clients found the larger size most intimidating… “You first,” Mr. Potter suggested.  
           “Of course,” said Daniel cheerfully. He entered his office and spun around in full sight of Mr. Potter to show there were no obvious traps waiting… Odd. The Potters were known reclusives, but of all the times Daniel had seen Mr. Potter around the Ministry, he had never before seemed so … paranoid! Could it have to do with the reason Daniel wished to see him?  
           “I would appreciate you closing the door after you, though,” Daniel suggested when Mr. Potter cautiously entered his office. “More privacy, you know. Have a seat,” Daniel offered when Mr. Potter shut the door. “You choose.” Mr. Potter stared at the two chairs in the room. Daniel never liked to have more chairs in his office at a time than necessary. Mr. Potter selected the one nearest Daniel’s desk; Daniel took the other one, nearest the door without hesitation. “Would you like some tea?” Daniel questioned pointed to the teapot and tray already resting upon his desk.  
Mr. Potter shook his head. “Your ten minutes have already begun,” he said instead.  
           “Ah, yes,” acknowledged Daniel. “I ran across something when I was filing that I thought you would find of interest,” he began smoothly as he reached over to the folder already resting on his desk. That wasn’t exactly the truth but Daniel was not one to reveal his sources… He opened the folder up and pulled out a thick piece of parchment, neatly folded instead of rolled. It was difficult to file “rolls.” He handed it to Mr. Potter. “They’re guardianship paper,” Daniel informed Mr. Potter conversationally as Mr. Potter unfolded the paper. “For someone named “Holly Wycliff.” Is that name familiar?”  
           Mr. Potter looked up from the paper. “Should it be?” he asked without expression.  
           “Yes,” Daniel told him. “You’ll note that _I’m_ the person listed as guardian and your signature is down as a witness… I hardly think you would sign something about which you knew nothing…”  
           “Assuming this document is real,” replied Mr. Potter calmly. “I should think I would remember signing it if that were the case and I don’t. Hence it must be a very clever forgery.” He refolded the paper and handed it back to Daniel.  
           “I can assure you it isn’t,” replied Daniel firmly. “I don’t keep forgeries.”  
           “So you say. Was it recorded and filed with the Ministry?”  
           “There is no record of it,” admitted Daniel, “but I’m certain it’s real. There’s also this.” Daniel reached again in the folder and pulled out a second folded parchment. He handed it to Mr. Potter. “It’s a copy of a restraining order,” Daniel told him, “ordering Ms. Skeeter and the _Daily Prophet_ to stop trying to find the location of the Wycliff family and their unplottable _witch_ residence. Note _your_ signature as the complainant,” Daniel added bringing Mr. Potter’s attention to the top of the form.  
           “Another signature I don’t remember making,” Mr. Potter replied calmly. “Was _this_ document recorded and filed with the Ministry?”  
           “I couldn’t find it, either,” admitted Daniel. “It should be there but isn’t. I don’t know why…”  
           “I do,” said Mr. Potter firmly. “It’s a forgery. We live in a world of magic, Mr. Pilkington. Forgeries are easy and commonplace to make. Determining the difference is not my field of expertise. In the absence of a proper filing record, which might make me think twice, I shall rely on my own memory as to whether these papers mean more than just scribbles…”  
           “There’s also this,” added Daniel reluctantly. He pulled out the photo that had been filed with the rest of the papers and handed it to Mr. Potter. It showed a young lady with beaded braids wearing a colourful ball gown, consisting of a light orange underskirt, pale pink top, sky blue overskirt trimmed with bright purple sashes and rosettes. She held a gray cat in her arms. Behind her stood Mr. and Mrs. Potter. “This is a photo from last year’s Charity Ball,” Daniel told Mr. Potter. Daniel often kept copies of photos he thought might come in useful for promoting future balls. The young lady in the photo had to be Holly, why else would the photo be in Holly Wycliff’s folder? The smile looked forced, too. Daniel wondered why.  
           “I don’t go to Balls,” Mr. Potter said stonily despite the evidence of the photo. “Another forgery!” he insisted while returning the photo. “Why have you gone to so much trouble?”  
           “She’s missing!” announced Daniel. “She’s a witch; she was here and now she’s missing! She’s your cousin yet no one, yourself included, even realizes she’s gone! Don’t you care?”  
           “I think your ten minutes are up,” replied Mr. Potter coldly. He stood. “Take your stories to Rita,” he told Daniel. “Perhaps she’ll find them more entertaining than me. I’ll ignore whatever she decides to print, as usual.”  
           “But she’s in trouble, I know it!” insisted Daniel as Mr. Potter stepped around him making his way to the door.  
           “Then _help_ her!” Mr. Potter challenged. “Good day, Mr. Pilkington.” Mr. Potter opened the door.  
           Daniel hastily stood. “Wait!” he called out desperately. Mr. Potter hesitated at the opened door and looked at Daniel. “I know you don’t believe any of this,” Daniel told Mr. Potter, “but could you do me a favour? Just don’t read the _Prophet_ for a while…”  
           “Why?” asked Mr. Potter coldly.  
           “Just don’t,” Daniel repeated willing all the sincerity he could in his expression. There was good reason to not read it, but nothing Daniel would share with the person in front of him, nothing Mr. Potter would believe.  
           Mr. Potter stepped out and closed the door firmly behind him.

**********

          Daniel stared blankly at the walls around him. This had not ended as he had intended. All the reports of Mr. Potter had indicated someone much more… Well, he was a Gryffindor for goodness sake! All the other Gryffindors Daniel had met would have leaped head first to rescue someone at the slightest hint of “need” especially when a hint of family and mystery were thrown into the picture. But Mr. Potter hadn’t indicated the slightest interest. Perhaps there was more to his reclusion than personal choice. Perhaps Potter’s fight with Lord Voldemort had taken a heavier toll than the wizarding community had realized… Rita had always printed stories about Potter’s mental instability. Maybe there was more to her articles than mere words…  
           At any rate, despite Potter’s claim of fraud, Daniel was certain the papers in his folder were authentic. There were too many protective spells around his papers to be otherwise. Daniel couldn’t actually remember her, or why he had done it, but he had agreed to guardianship of someone named Holly Wycliff. Daniel was certain she was in serious trouble and it was now up to him to fulfill his responsibilities and try to help her…  
Helping her was another problem altogether. How was he going to find, let alone help, someone that no one apparently remembered? Just the thought of it made his already throbbing head hurt even more…  
           Daniel stood, gathered up the loose papers and returned them to the folder. Then he returned the folder to its proper place renewing all the security and locking spells on the cabinet. It had been a stressful day and Daniel felt exhausted, unable to think clearly. It was time to go home. Perhaps his wife Terika could help him figure out a way to find Holly.  
           Daniel stepped out into the corridor. He drew his wand, turned and proceeded to lock his office. Suddenly Daniel felt his body slam into the door! Then it was whirled about slamming his head and upper back into the same door knocking the air out of him! When he could gain his breath again, Daniel found himself looking at a disembodied hand with a wand pointed firmly at his face.  
           “Why shouldn’t I read the _Prophet?”_ questioned a familiar voice in his ear.  
           Daniel could see no one in front of him—it had to be an invisible cloak for there was no mistaking that there was a body holding him firmly in place. Daniel stared at the wand under his nose. What should he say? He would have never explained anything to the person who left his office, but the hand holding the wand was firm and steady indicating someone who meant business! Was it possible Mr. Potter had done a bit of “acting” of his own?  
           “It’s bewitched,” replied Daniel.  
           “How?” demanded the voice refusing to accept the simplest answer.  
           “A memory charm,” revealed Daniel, “to make the reader forget things…”  
           “Like what?” persisted the voice.  
           “Like Holly Wycliff,” Daniel answered.  
           “You remember,” reminded the voice. “Why?”  
           “I, ah, watch what I read,” replied Daniel wryly.  
           “So why tell me?”  
           “What?” exclaimed Daniel in surprise. “You’re her cousin! Of course you should know…”  
           “Why tell me _now?”_ persisted the voice.  
           “Huh?”  
           “That memory charm has been in the paper for over two months! Why tell me _now?”_  
           _“Two months?!!!”_ thought Daniel in shock. “But I just found out!” he exclaimed involuntarily. “I swear!”  
           “Explain.”  
           “My daughter Leila wrote me that there was drop in the Hufflepuff student count…” began Daniel. “Then she wrote that several of the older students had started reading their newspapers like Professor Lovegood…”  
           “Upside-down?”  
           “Yes. So I did too…”  
           “And found things you didn’t expect to find…” The voice softened, the hand on the wand relaxed a bit and the wand point dropped a fraction.  
           “Yes.”  
           “How’s your head?” the voice asked abruptly.  
           “Pounding,” admitted Daniel. “Has been ever since I flipped the paper…”  
           “Perhaps we should resume our discussion in your office,” the voice suggested as both hand and wand vanished from sight.  
           Daniel nodded. He turned and reopened his office door. “After you,” he suggested and stepped aside to let an unseen person enter first. He felt a soft swish of fabric and wind pass by. Then Daniel entered. He shut the door and when he turned around, Mr. Potter was again in his chair.  
           He scrutinized Daniel closely for a moment and then looked almost longingly at the space on Daniel’s desk where the folder had been. “Was, ah, there anything else in that folder of interest?” he questioned hesitantly.  
           “Help yourself,” offered Daniel. He pointed his wand at the desk. A drawer shot open and the Wycliff folder flew out landing neatly on the desk. “After all, you are her guardian.”  
           “But only while she is at Hogwarts,” corrected Mr. Potter as he reached for the folder. “And, as you have pointed out, she’s not at Hogwarts…”  
           “A mere technicality, of merit only should the parents complain…” replied Daniel smoothly. “They won’t will they?”  
           “Probably not,” replied Mr. Potter as he opened the folder. “They think I already know...” indicating that Mr. Potter’s memory had also been affected by the memory charm…  
           Mr. Potter stared thoughtfully at the other photos in the file: Holly alone and Holly hugging Wizard Malfoy. Did Mr. Potter find it distressing to see his ward hugging his archenemy? Mr. Potter fingered without comment the other document Daniel had found in the file, that of a certain pardon… There had to be a reason it had been filed in Holly’s folder and not elsewhere, but Daniel didn’t know it; he vaguely remembered a meeting with Narcissus and Lucius Malfoy but beyond that...  
           “That it?” questioned Mr. Potter looking up at Daniel when he had finished. The folder contained precious little besides the legal documents, appointment dates and a note from Headmaster McGonagall suggesting he assist a Hogwarts student unexpectedly called before Child Services…  
           “Fraid so,” answered Daniel. “I keep most of my records in my head…”  
           “How’s that working?” Mr. Potter asked curiously with a glint of humour in his eyes.  
           “A lot better in the past,” Daniel admitted ruefully. It was most disconcerting to realize how much he suddenly didn’t know… He sure hoped the memory charm would wear off or he would have to turn to Mr. Potter to fill in some of the gaps he felt—like who Sir was and why he wished to be forgotten…  
           “Know anything about house elves?” Mr. Potter asked abruptly.  
           “A little,” admitted Daniel. “My grandmother has one. Why?”  
           “No particular reason,” answered Mr. Potter vaguely. “Just wondered…”  
           Daniel had the feeling he had just answered a very important question but couldn’t see how…  
           Mr. Potter returned the folder to the desktop and then shifted in his seat. “Uh, about Holly,” he began while regarding Daniel steadily, “I really appreciate your concern, but I must ask you to lay low and pretend none of this has ever happened, better yet, turn one of the Prophets around, read it again and forget your daughter ever wrote you. Tell her to do the same...”  
           “I don’t understand…” began Daniel. “Holly is—”  
           “Holly is hiding,” interrupted Mr. Potter. “As surprising as it may seem, Sir has apparently spent the last two months _looking_ for her!”  
           “Looking?!” _“How did you find that out?”_  
           “In addition, I am fairly certain that Sir has managed to place some sort of surveillance upon anyone Holly may know, myself and yourself included, in case she tries to turn to one of us for help...”  
           “Help she will not receive due to the memory charm,” filled in Daniel thoughtfully. “ _What are your sources? Why did Sir want Holly in the first place?”_  
           “That’s one reason why I don’t dare risk being seen with people whom Sir would recognize as friends and associates of Holly, such as you,” Mr. Potter informed calmly. “Sir is bound to suspect that we know something I don’t want him to know…  
           “In which case you’d better get some of these,” said Daniel swiftly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several ornate strips of heavy paper and handed them to Mr. Potter. “A lot,” he added firmly.  
           “What’s this?” asked Mr. Potter curiously.  
           “Tickets to my ball,” replied Daniel promptly. “I just finished getting them printed.”  
           “Your ball?” questioned Mr. Potter in disbelief.  
           “Yes. What better explanation for you and me to spend private time in my office than for me to exercise my persuasive skills getting you to buy some tickets! Everyone knows how aggressive I can be selling tickets. It’s for a good cause, you know,” Daniel added going into his regular spiel. “You may or may not know that I act as a Solicitor at Large, Amicus Curiae (friend of the court) and Amicus Opibus (friend of the disadvantaged,) of clients who, for whatever reason, are unable to provide their own legal services whatever the need may be at the time. I do not charge for such cases, and derive the income for that work solely through this charity ball,” Daniel added informatively. “You may remember that Miss Wycliff was in fact a beneficiary of such services…” Of course, Daniel now suspected Mr. Potter _didn’t_ remember. “In addition, my records show that you, your wife, and several of your friends purchased tickets last year. How can you do less this year? Especially as I am running a special…”  
           “A special?”  
           “Yes, a fifty percent discount for all purchases by guests who attended last year’s ball—it ended rather early, if you recall…”  
           “It did? Why?”  
           “A fight over Sorbi, if I remember correctly,” answered Daniel cheerfully. “Anyway, this year I’m featuring the products of Miss Crowley,” Daniel added. “She’s getting married, you know, so I thought it could be an early wedding gift—a prominent location where she can display her wares as a beginning potions mixer…”  
           “Miss Crowley? Paige?” Mr. Potter asked with interest.  
           “Yes. Do you know her?”  
           “I believe we’ve met before…”  
           “Well, you _owe_ her, Mr. Potter!” Daniel reminded sternly. “She put Witch Umbridge away without your boy having to go on the stand and make his own charges!” Daniel added making references to Witch Umbridge’s part in the stadium collapse two years earlier for which Albus Potter had been blamed.  
           “True,” mused Mr. Potter. “I guess I shall have to buy some tickets…” He looked down at the tickets in his hand. “I, ah, didn’t bring any money with me,” he confessed.  
           “That’s all right,” replied Daniel cheerfully. “I’ll send a bill—I’m sure you’re good for it…”  
           “Very well,” agreed Mr. Potter as he pocketed the tickets he held. Then looked up at Daniel. “I, uh, apologize for the way I behaved earlier,” Mr. Potter began hesitantly, “but it has occurred to me that after two months hunting for Holly without success, Sir might try to recruit some assistance in his search… Kind of like what you were doing when you approached me…  
           “I’m no stooge!” exclaimed Daniel aghast that such an idea was even considered.  
           “You don’t have to be,” replied Mr. Potter. “Sir has been known to use the _Imperius Curse_ turning unwilling victims into assistants…”  
           “Not me!” assured Daniel confidently.  
           “Memory gaps are a typical side effect of the _Imperius Curse_ …”  
           That gave Daniel a pause—he _had_ been confronting unaccountable memory loss stretching over the past two years! Was it possible?  
           “It’s been done before to the best of us!” Mr. Potter added mildly. “Though I hardly think someone under the influence of the _Imperius Curse_ would have reacted as you did outside your office…” He looked down for a moment clearly distressed by what he had done. Then Mr. Potter looked up again at Daniel. “Of course, Sir doesn’t need to secure your cooperation. Just get to know you well enough to … impersonate you…”  
           Daniel’s eyes widened with comprehension—“You think polyjuice?” He thought back swiftly; was it possible for someone to get his hairs?  
           “Naw, I hardly think Sir would waste his time on it, especially knowing how ghastly the stuff tastes,” assured Mr. Potter with a grimace. Daniel immediately wondered upon what occasion Mr. Potter had had to use Polyjuice…  
           “But—”  
           “Sir is a Metamorphmangus!”  
           “What?!” The only Metamorphmangus Daniel knew about was Mr. Potter’s godson! There was another?!  
           “A Metamorphmangus,” confirmed Mr. Potter. “And believe me it’s been very difficult walking around the Ministry knowing the people I see may not be who I think they are, realizing an unguarded word to a trusted associate may find its way to Sir…  
           “Surely you attribute too much to Sir’s abilities,” protested Daniel. How could any person accomplish all that Mr. Potter accused Sir of doing?  
           “Perhaps,” agreed Mr. Potter. “But better safe than sorry. Sir has gone to a lot of trouble to make the wizard community forget Holly and I would rather he believe his efforts have been successful. Accordingly, be forewarned, this discussion about Holly never happened and for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t exist. Should you encounter someone resembling me who tries to convince you otherwise, then it probably isn‘t me… Be wary of anyone who brings up the subject of Holly Wycliff... Sir is very determined and I have no intention of assisting him. He must not find Holly nor learn I know anything other than what the _Daily Prophet_ tells me.”  
           Daniel nodded with understanding. Their connection was only through Holly so in public Mr. Potter and he could never appear more than distant acquaintances. “Just out of curiosity,” said Daniel realizing this would be the last chance they’d have to talk, “how _did_ you find out about Holly?”  
           Mr. Potter readjusted his glasses before looking at Daniel with this blank kind of expression. “Who?”  
           Daniel nodded again. Mr. Potter’s message was clear; the less Daniel knew the less he could tell others, not that he would ever do so willingly… Daniel rose from his seat. “Thanks so much for your contribution,” he said in a professional tone. “I’m sure you have other business to attend to so I’ll let you go.”  
           Mr. Potter rose also. “Thank you,” he answered.  
           Daniel opened the door to his office. “You know,” he added as he held the door open for Mr. Potter, “I’ve had had quite a few requests for an auction item you can help me with...” Daniel’s voice was loud enough for those passing by to hear; Daniel wanted there to be no question in anyone’s mind the reason for Mr. Potter’s presence…  
           “What?”  
           “Dinner with Harry Potter and his lovely wife at a classy restaurant complete with complimentary photos of all of you together…”  
           The look Mr. Potter gave Daniel would have frozen a volcano! “No!” he said flatly.  
           “You sure?” questioned Daniel with suppressed mirth. “It’s bound to be a big ticket item; I’m sure Ms. Skeeter would pay a fortune for the opportunity…”  
           Mr. Potter shuttered visibly at the mention of Rita’s name. “No!” he repeated firmly.  
           “Oh, well,” sighed Daniel in mock disappointment. “Perhaps I can get you to buy a few more tickets for your friends instead…”

 


	8. Chapter 8

          Jane Smith adjusted the pillow propping it up against the wall. Then she seated herself comfortably on the bed with her back against the pillow. Next, she placed the ear buds of her iPod in her ears, turned on the music and adjusted the volume. She closed her eyes, leaned back and sighed happily as the music flooded her senses. Jane loved listening to the music. She would listen to it all the time if she could, but that was not permitted. They took the iPod away from Jane at bedtime returning it only after she had consumed her morning meds. And Jane took it out before she washed or used the loo—Jane wasn’t too steady on her feet and things tended to get dropped or wet when in the bathroom. Otherwise the music was nonstop.  
           A firm hold of and a persistent shake of her shoulder forced Jane’s attention from the music. She reluctantly opened her eyes and saw a blurry figure in front of her. Ice blue uniform—must be one of the nurses, nothing of importance.  
           Jane ignored the nurse and returned her attention to the music swirling through her head. She barely heard the “Time to get up, Jane. You’ve got visitors,” over the music let alone comprehended the meaning of the words. The hand left Jane’s shoulder and moved to grip her wrist tugging up and away. Jane let herself be pulled out of her seated position. She stood on wobbly legs. Standing made her feel dizzy. But that was O.K. because the nurse moved her hand to Jane’s elbow supporting Jane as she stood so there was no danger of falling. The nurse urged Jane forward keeping her from stumbling or falling along the way. Jane moved her legs in the accordance with the nurse’s direction and returned her attention to the music.  
           Jane’s earliest memories were of pain and music. “Focus on the music,” a voice had said over the sound. “It’ll help you forget the pain.” So Jane had focused on the music. Whether it was the music or the drugs they gave her, Jane survived the pain and the music enabled Jane to bear the long hours of inactivity during her recovery. The music had no words—just unending strands of sound in a myriad of combinations. There were hundreds of different pieces on the iPod but Jane knew them all by heart now, knew each crescendo and diminuendo and all the other twists and turns the music made. The hardest part was when they took the iPod away to “charge” (every night at bedtime.) Then Jane felt restless and anxious.  
           The first time Jane had asked for water, no one could understand her and she was given more medication. After the pain subsided to manageable levels, Jane tried to stand and move about; she felt nauseous, dizzy and light-headed. No one understood when she tried to tell them that. It was easier to passively sit and listen to the music.  
           The nurse continued talking as they walked. Jane only caught snatches of the words during lulls in the music—“specialists… the Americas…” The words meant nothing to her. The nurse stopped Jane in front of a wooden door, much to Jane’s dismay. That meant she was to see a doctor. Doctors didn’t like her listening to music while they spoke.  
           “I need your iPod,” said the nurse confirming Jane’s worst fears.  
           Jane reluctantly pulled the iPod out, shut off the music and handed it and the ear buds to the nurse. The noise of the outside world immediately assailed Jane’s ears. Past experience had taught Jane they would get the iPod away from her eventually and if she cooperated, she would have a better chance of getting the iPod returned sooner. “You’ll give it back?” she asked the nurse worriedly.  
           A week ago, Jane had asked for the iPod after taking her morning meds and the nurse actually understood her! Jane couldn’t understand or explain how they couldn’t understand her words one day and could the next; she hadn’t said or done anything different from one day to the next, but the event had caused quite a bit of excitement among the staff.  
           After that, everyone wanted to hear Jane talk; they asked her all sorts of questions: “What is your name?” _“Jane, of course! Why else would you call me that?”_ “Where are you from?” _“Meadowsgate.”_ “What are your parents’ names?” _“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, I suppose.”_ “Do you know what happened?” _“No.”_ “Do you remember anything before the accident?” _“What accident?”_ Then they began to poke and prod asking her how she felt… _(Sleepy, blurry vision, weak, thirsty, nauseous…)_ None of which seemed to concern the doctor… All the while Jane kept on asking for the return of the iPod. They finally gave it back to her when they ran out of other questions. Eventually, the excitement of her “speaking” died down and Jane returned to the usual routine of meds and music.  
           “Yes, of course I’ll give you the iPod back after your visit,” assured the nurse. “But you’ve got to cooperate and answer all their questions…”  
           “I will,” agreed Jane absently as she turned her mind inward remembering the last piece of music she had been listening to and continued it on in her head. She hated hearing the ordinary noises generated by the hospital: footsteps, conversation, squeaky wheels, doors opening and closing… The sounds clashed and jangled to her ear. The nurse opened the door. Grasping Jane’s elbow, the nurse steered Jane into the room, guided her to the chair and helped her sit.  
           “Miss Smith,” began the nurse, “this is Doctors—“  
           Jane nodded her head politely as if she were listening but ignored the nurse and two persons already in the room, a man and a woman, while she finished the piece in her head. Jane knew the two people would probably never talk to the nurse later or tell the nurse that Jane hadn’t been cooperative… The nurse left and Jane sat passively as she finished replaying the music in her head.  
           “Uh, how are you?” questioned the man hesitantly. He spoke just as Jane had mentally reached the finale. Without a new piece to focus on his words could not be ignored.  
           “Fine,” Jane answered automatically. Strange, her usual doctor always seemed so confident…  
           “You sure?” he questioned again. “You don’t look too good.”  
           “Of course she doesn’t look too good,” said the lady. “Remember all the medication they’ve been giving her? Vernon looked them up! The side effects alone are enough to make a person act like a zombie! Goodness knows what they do to someone who doesn’t actually need them!”  
           _“Huh?”_  
           “Do you need anything?” continued the lady. “Can we get you anything to help out?”  
           “She needs to get out of here!” put in the man forcefully before Jane could reply.  
           _“Out?”_  
           “But not if she doesn’t want it!” said the lady swiftly. “Remember? We agreed. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to, dear,” she added to Jane.  
           “ _You_ agreed,” grumbled the man. “Honestly, Holly, do you really want to stay here?”  
           _“Holly?”_ Jane’s eyes widened. Adrenaline surged through her body effectively counteracting the medications in her system. Jane looked again at the man and the woman, really looked at them, forcing her eyes to see pass the usual fuzzy blur… No, she didn’t recognize the woman, but the man… Yes, that could be the man!  
           Jane closed her eyes tightly. “Bad dream! Bad dream! Bad dream!” she whispered to herself over and over again. Never had she felt so terrified as when that squeezing sensation had started landing her in a strange room with a strange bat-eared creature. The man with the glasses had told her to close her eyes. Jane had and when she opened them again she was back in the bathroom. It had all been a bad dream hadn’t it?  
           “There! You’ve done it!” came the lady’s scolding voice. “You’ve frightened her again! Holly, baby, there’s nothing to be frightened of! Really!” the lady’s voice assured.  
           “Quit calling me Holly!” exploded Jane with her eyes still tightly closed. “I’m not Holly!”  
           “Of course you are, dear,” answered the woman. “That’s your name, Holly Wycliff.”  
           “No! It’s Jane Smith!” argued Jane.  
           “Jane Smith is the name they gave you when you were brought to Meadowsgate Lodge,” said the lady gently. “They didn’t find any identification of any sort on you so they picked out a name by which to call you. Jane Smith is rather better than Jane _Doe_ , don’t you agree? When you woke, you couldn’t give them an alternate name so they continued to call you that. Even when you could speak you didn’t provide them with another name… So they still call you Jane Smith. It says very plainly in your medical records, though, that you suffer from amnesia.”  
           “No!” whispered Jane. She buried her face in her hands. “I’m Jane!” she repeated. _“Jane!”_  
           “If you wish to be called “Jane,” that’s O.K. with us,” the lady agreed easily. “It’s only a name. Uh, do you happen to remember how you got your injuries?”  
           Jane shook her head while still hiding her face.  
           “I didn’t think so,” said the lady, “but the medical notes say something about an auto accident. After that they are rather sketchy. They list a whole stack of cuts, tears, scrapes, burns, and all sorts of _possible_ fractures, broken bones, concussion and other internal injuries but it doesn’t appear any x-rays were taken or surgery done. That’s not surprising as this isn’t a proper hospital for treating that sort of thing,” she continued, “but we couldn’t help but wonder why you were brought here instead of a regular hospital…”  
           Jane shook her head again. She had known none of that stuff was done but never thought it unusual enough to consider why.  
           “Then we noticed that there were no billing slips. That’s kind of odd, don’t you think, after all, it’s a private facility, very pricy and you wouldn’t think they would do work for free… So we looked more into the hospital. It’s owned by a Mr. Smythe. Ever hear of him?”  
Jane shook her head again.  
           “He’s terribly wealthy and has been proposed for knighthood. His son is rather wild though, been in the news a lot and I’m sure none of it helps his efforts at getting knighted. Meadowsgate Lodge was having major financial difficulties last year and was in danger of closing completely until Mr. Smythe bought it last July—the same time month you were admitted here—the same week, actually…” The lady paused a moment before continuing on. “I‘m told there’s a rather wrecked auto sitting in Mr. Smythe’s garage,” she added, “and his son is currently somewhere in Switzerland… I haven’t asked, of course, but I can’t help but think all of this has something to do with your presence here, especially as Mr. Smythe is listed as your legal guardian…”  
           _“He is?”_ thought Jane in surprise. “So?” Jane whispered aloud. “What’s it to you?”  
           “Everything!” asserted the lady.  
           “Why?”  
           “Because you’re our _daughter,_ of course!”  
           “No!” Jane argued. “I’m _Jane!_ You’re _not_ my parents!” she denied. “I don’t _know_ you!”  
           “Just because you don’t _know_ us, doesn’t make you any less our daughter!” growled the man.  
           “We know you can’t remember us,” interposed the lady quickly, “but we’ve pictures! Look!” Jane heard some rustling and then felt this big heavy something shoved onto her lap.  
           “Look!” pleaded the lady.  
           Almost against her will, Jane removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes. There was a photo album on her lap in front of her. Bright pink, covered with pictures of dark green holly leaves and bright red holly berries. Jane slowly opened the album and looked at the first page. A tiny baby smiled back at her. More pictures followed, lots of them: birthday photos all featuring a tiny girl with green eyes behind huge cakes surrounded by piles of gifts; a slender toddler in a tutu, standing next to an older chubby boy, brother? A scrawny girl with long blonde hair in a school uniform… There were holiday photos too—the family posing with two older people, one Jane recognized as a younger version of that lady in the “bad dream…” The more recent photos portrayed someone strikingly different from the earlier ones; the girl in the photo seemed strong and healthy with short hair. But there was also a glamour portrait of the same aged girl with long hair…  
           _Hair._ Jane suddenly remembered a time when one of the nurses was brushing her hair and happened to mention she thought Jane had such “fine beautiful hair…” Something within Jane snapped! She grabbed the scissors off the dressing tray and started cutting! She cut large swathes of hair, as much as she could—the shorter the better! They eventually got the scissors away from Jane but had to hold her down to do it. Later Jane had to listen to a long lecture about why suicide was not right… Then they brought in a beautician to try to make Jane look presentable. They tied her arms to the armrests, just to be safe, but let Jane listen to her iPod while the beautician worked. When she finished, Jane had a short pixie haircut, which made Jane very happy, not that she could tell anyone. More pills were added to her daily medicine after that.  
           The last photo showed a smiling girl with beaded braids holding a gray cat. _“Beaded braids? Really?”_ thought Jane in disbelief. _“Ewwww!”_  
           “That’s your cat Sasha,” said the lady obviously noting the photo Jane had lingered at.  
           _“I’ve a cat!”_ thought Jane suddenly. _“An imaginary cat!”_ Jane remembered the “cat” that visited her regularly at night. First, there was the near feather light thump on the bed when the “cat” arrived and then the mattress seemed to jiggle as if the “cat” was walking closer. Finally, Jane could feel gentle pressure and warmth as the cat lay next to her in bed. Whenever Jane looked, there was nothing there, of course, which was how Jane knew the cat was imaginary. So Jane didn’t look. She would close her eyes and imagine there was a beautiful warm cat lying on the bed besides her. Often Jane would reach out to where it seemed to be, ran her fingers through soft silky fur, felt the gentle rumble of a contented purr and marveled at the realism of her imagination. Jane had named her imaginary cat “Shadow” for her shadowy presence when no one else was around. Jane never tried to put colour on Shadow but “gray” seemed to fit. Shadow helped Jane make it through the long nights without her music.  
           “It’s not me!” said Jane out loud. “I don’t know this person.”  
           “Of course you don’t!” growled the man. “You’ve got amnesia!”  
           “That’s why we want you to come home with us,” said the lady. “We’re hoping if you see your home for yourself; touch it; feel it; being there will jog your mind and your memories will return.”  
           “You don’t want me, I’m crazy,” asserted Jane.  
           “No, you’re not!” the man said forcefully.  
           “I’m schizophrenic,” she told them. “Surely those medical records said that too.”  
           “No, you’re not!” repeated the man. “And I don’t care what the papers said.”  
           “I say words no one understands but me,” argued Jane.  
           “No, you don’t,” the lady disagreed.  
           “Well, I did,” conceded Jane. “And I behave erratically!” The doctor explained very carefully to Jane what Schizophrenia was, why he was giving her all that medication and why it was important to keep taking her medication even though her speech had improved dramatically. He still worried that Jane might attempt another “suicide.”  
           “So!”  
           “And I hallucinate!” Jane never told the doctor about that room or Shadow but Shadow was one reason why Jane never disagreed with the Schizophrenic diagnosis or protested taking the medication he prescribed. “And have mood swings!” Was that what one called the jumble of emotions, a mixture of confusion, frustration, anger, worry, love, and concern all at the same time, that Jane suddenly found herself feeling? The Doctor had asked her if she had mood swings so it must be a symptom of something.  
           “So? Just because you have all those things doesn’t make you crazy!” the man insisted stubbornly.  
           “PTSD,” said the lady abruptly. “People with that often report the same things! They’re not crazy and neither are you H-uh-Jane! You just have amnesia,” she continued, “and we’d like to try to help you with that.”  
           Jane closed the photo album. “Why?” she asked softly. She lifted the album off her lap and put it onto the floor.  
           “Why?” asked the lady in confusion. “Because we’re your parents!”  
           “Why _now?”_ clarified Jane. “You say I’ve been here since July and _now_ you come?”  
           “Well, um, Mr. Smythe,” replied the lady, “he hid you rather well…” Her voice trailed off and she kind of looked down as she said it making Jane think that wasn’t the whole story. Jane swung her eyes to the man sensing somehow he would be more forthright.  
           He looked away and shifted uncomfortably in his seat obviously not wanting to meet her stare or answer but Jane waited. “You left the towel,” he finally mumbled. “But I swear to you we would have come for you sooner if we could…” Jane knew immediately that was the truth though she didn’t know how she knew that. Nor did she wish to further explore that terrifying moment when she had dropped the towel…  
           “Does he know?” Jane suddenly asked.  
           “Who?”  
           “My, uh, legal guardian,” Jane answered. “Does he know you’re here?”  
           “Of course Harry knows!” exploded the man.  
           _“Harry?”_  
           “No, dear he doesn’t,” corrected the lady. “She means Mr. Smythe, dear,” the lady added to the man.  
           “But how can I leave without him knowing?” questioned Jane.  
           “Of course you can!” insisted the man. “You’re our daughter!”  
           “We fixed up all sorts of fancy papers and faked his signature on them saying you can leave in our custody,” answered the lady.  
           “You lied?” accused Jane.  
           “As did he when he claimed guardianship of you,” replied the lady. “We don’t want to cause him any fuss, we just want you home. Mr. Smythe gets a monthly report on your progress, which was sent out yesterday. With any luck the people here will think you’ve been transferred to the Americas and by the time Mr. Smythe realizes you are no longer at Meadowsgate Lodge you will have regained your memory and can personally thank him for all his help...”  
           “Thank?”  
           “Of course. After all, because of his quick thinking, Mr. Smythe _did_ save your life and we are very, very grateful to him for that. Mr. Smythe obviously doesn’t want any publicity for his actions and neither do we, though, perhaps not for the same reason. So, will you come home with us?”  
           Jane looked down at her lap. Then she looked at the photo album on the floor next to her. She drew a deep breath. “No,” she said clearly. “I do not want to go with you.”  
           “What!” exclaimed the man. Jane heard the chair scoot back. She looked up and saw the man rise from his seat. “You can’t stay h—”  
           “No, dear,” the lady said hastily placing her arm across his chest halting his forward motion and pushing him back into the chair. “We agreed. We knew she might not say “yes;” it’s too soon, isn’t it? Too much information all at once—she needs time to think about it. You will think about it won’t you?” she added to Jane.  
           Jane nodded. Why did she feel so angry, frustrated and sad all of the sudden?  
           “Are you sure about this?” questioned the lady.  
           “Yes,” Jane whispered and nodded again.  
           “Then here,” said the lady. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small rectangular object. “It’s a phone,” she said putting it into Jane’s hands. “You know how to use one don’t you?” Jane nodded. “It’s been programmed with our numbers,” continued the lady as Jane turned the phone over looking at it curiously. On the back was taped a small photo—one of the family with the girl in beads holding the gray cat. “One for your father, your brother Vernon and me. That way you can call us any time, day or night, in case you change your mind, or, just if you want to talk…” The lady’s voice trailed off hopefully. “You’ll do that won’t you?”  
           Jane slipped the phone in the pocket of her robe and nodded again though she doubted that would happen, ever. They were strangers, after all.  
           “Then, we need to be going. Come along, dear,” the lady said standing swiftly and pulling the man with her. Jane remained seated. Her mind swirled with all sorts of emotions: disappointment, regret, anger, frustration, uncertainty, confusion, fear, sorrow… How could she feel so much at once?  
           “Uh, good-bye, J-Jane,” said the lady as she pulled the man with her.  
           “Come with us, Holly, please!” pleaded the man as the lady opened the door. Jane didn’t move. She was certain the man wanted to stay but he left with the lady and the door closed behind them.  
           Jane couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face. Why did she feel this way? She was certain she didn’t belong with them, yet still she cried…  
           Jane was still crying when the nurse came in a few minutes later. “I shouldn’t be giving you this,” the nurse scolded as she held out the iPod. “What did you say? They looked terribly upset when they left.”  
           Jane sniffed and shook her head. Now she felt confused, upset, annoyed, tired and hungry, and her feet hurt, though she couldn’t imagine why! Jane grabbed the iPod and rapidly put the earbuds in. The emotions subsided to reassuring nothingness once she focused on the music. The nurse grabbed Jane’s elbow and helped her stand. Then she moved Jane out of the room.  
           As they walked down the corridor Jane suddenly stopped. She lowered the music volume and turned to the nurse. “Do you have a family?” she asked.  
           “What?” asked the nurse in surprise. Jane had never before attempted to engage in social conversation.  
           “Do you have a family?” repeated Jane.  
           “Yes, of course,” replied the nurse.  
           “Alive?”  
           “Yes,” answered the nurse.  
           “Tell me about them.”  
           And the nurse launched into several tales about her family stopping only when they reached Jane’s room. All the time, Jane felt hunger, exasperation, patience, weariness, love, concern, confusion and her feet hurt. It was very reassuring to relax on her bed and again bury herself in her music…

**********

           “What’s PTSD?” questioned Jane Smith the next day when she sat in for her meeting with her regular doctor, the psychologist.  
           “What?” he asked in surprise. Jane usually sat quietly, speaking only when spoken to, never asking questions.  
           “PTSD. What’s PTSD?”  
           “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”  
           Jane nodded though she had had no idea that’s what the letters meant.  
           “Post-traumatic stress disorder is a mental health condition that's triggered by a terrifying event— either experiencing it or witnessing it,” the psychologist explained. “The symptoms may include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. Have you had a terrifying event?” he asked with sudden interest.  
           “Uh, no,” replied Jane quickly. “Uh, at least I don’t think so…” she added uncertainly. Why had the lady who claimed to be her mother mentioned it so confidently? Was there another reason for the symptoms Jane had been experiencing? “I was just asking…” She had been feeling rather sleepy and bored but now Jane suddenly felt awake and intensely curious. “Mood swings!” Jane said.  
           “What?”  
           “Mood swings! Are they a symptom of PTSD?”  
           “Ah, no, not really, but I suppose they can be under the right circumstances. Have you been experiencing mood swings?”  
           “What are they a symptom of?” persisted Jane. “You’ve asked me about them before, remember? Why?”  
           “Because of the scissors,” reminded the psychologist. “You were sitting calmly in bed when all of the sudden you grabbed the scissors and started screaming...”  
           “I wanted short hair!” Jane replied stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the burst of panic and terror that had initiated the move.  
           “But why? And why then?”  
           “I don’t know; I just did.”  
           “Irrational or bizarre behavior,” concluded the psychologist. “That’s the kind of thing that schizophrenics display along with paranoia, garbled speech, hearing voices, and hallucinations. Have you been having any hallucinations?”  
           “No!” lied Jane swiftly, maybe too quickly. Jane suddenly felt suspicion and disbelief along with her other emotions. Was she being paranoid?  
           “Nurse Faulkner told me you asked about her family,” said the psychologist changing the subject, “and now you’re taking an interest in PTSD… You know, social withdrawal is another symptom of schizophrenia. The fact that you’ve started to take an interest in the outside world is good sign, a very good sign. Taken with your speech patterns that are no longer garbled and I think you may be getting better…”  
           Jane wasn’t so sure. Shadow still “nestled” by her side at night and her moods were flipping around so much they were getting harder and harder to keep inside...

**********

          Tell me again about your family,” asked Jane as Nurse Faulkner took her iPod away. The nurse cheerfully told Jane the latest happenings at her home while she fluffed Jane’s pillow and pulled up the covers for bedtime.  
           “I do miss them sometimes,” Nurse Faulkner added wistfully as she finished. “What about your family? Oh, I’m sorry!” she added swiftly and Jane felt her own face flush with embarrassment. “I forgot you haven’t any family.”  
           “How do you know I don’t have any family?” asked Jane.  
           “A girl as nice as you?” scoffed the nurse. “They’d surely be visiting if they could…”  
           As soon as the nurse left, Jane sat up. She reached over to the plastic purple vase that sat on the windowsill. It held a dried flower arrangement. Jane pulled out the flowers, held the vase over her bed and tipped it over. Out fell some dried flower petals, two dead flies, fine grains of dust and one cell phone, the cell phone the lady had given Jane.  
           Jane had no idea whether or not cell phones were permitted at Meadowsgate Lodge but she wasn’t about to risk losing her phone to find out. Jane returned the flowers to the vase and the vase to the windowsill. Then she brushed off her bed and picked up the phone. Jane turned the phone over and again studied the people in the photo on the back. They were still strangers, smiling strangers that looked happy together, but this time Jane looked at the group with a sense of longing—she felt like she was missing something important, something she had never before realized she didn’t have… Jane took a deep breath and turned on the phone. Her fingers rapidly found the phone list; she selected the lady’s number and pressed “dial.”  
           “Hello? H-Jane is that you,” a familiar voice said excitedly. “Would you like to talk or something?”  
           “H-how about if I visit, maybe, just for a couple of days?” Jane whispered before she lost the nerve…

 


	9. Chapter 9

          Vernon Wycliff stared curiously at the girl sitting in the auto next to him. She wasn’t really “next” to him as she was scooted over as close to the auto door on her side as she could be and he was next to his, but still, they were on the same seat… She didn’t look much like Holly with that super short haircut. On the other hand, she didn’t look much like Holly last year with those beaded braids, but at least then, _she_ knew she was  Holly…  
           Mum and father kept up a stream of steady chatter designed to put Holly more at ease but Vernon doubted Holly heard a word of it. Her eyes were closed, her arms were in her lap and she swayed gently forward and back to the beat of the sounds coming through her earbuds. It was very loud and if he tried, Vernon could hear snatches of the music too. Vernon had seen people like Holly before at Smeltings: totally oblivious to the world around them. Vernon reached out and placed a hand on her wrist; it was the best way to get the attention of those so wrapped up with their music. Holly started at the touch and turned to look at him. Her green eyes seemed the only thing familiar in that too pale face. Vernon was pale too, but not for the same reason. She’d spent her time locked up in a hospital and he’d been—Vernon hadn’t quite worked out that part, wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.  
           “What are you listening to?” he asked in a not-too-loud voice knowing Holly would have to take an earbud out and turn down the volume in order to understand what he’d said.  
           She frowned. “What?” she asked not removing the earbud or turning down the sound.  
           “What are you listening to?” he repeated in the same low voice.  
           This time Holly removed the earbud and turned down the volume or perhaps put it on pause altogether. “Huh?”  
           “What are you listening to?” he asked a third time.  
           “Music,” came the response.  
           _“Duhhhh!!”_ thought Vernon. “What kind?” he persisted.  
           Holly shrugged and looked down at the iPod. “Canon in D,” she answered briefly.  
           “What’s that?” questioned Vernon.  
           She shrugged again.  
           “May I?” questioned Vernon holding out his hand.  
           Holly looked at him hesitantly and then held out the iPod so he could see. Vernon leaned down to look at the iPod. “Pachelbel?” he questioned aloud. “Who’s that?”  
           Holly shrugged again. “I don’t know,” she answered without interest.  
           Vernon reached out with a finger, pressed some buttons and rapidly scrolled down the selection of music Holly had been listening to. “Hayden?” he said aloud, “Verdi? Bach, Beethoven? These are Classical composers!” he exclaimed in surprise. Music was not particularly his thing, but even _he_ had heard of Beethoven.  
           “So?”  
           “I mean who listens to them today?”  
           “ _I_ do!” Holly replied coldly. Her icy expression dared Vernon to disagree. Holly took the iPod from Vernon’s reach, returned the earbud to her ear and pressed “play” again.  
           _“Yep,”_ thought Vernon to himself. _“Memory or not, this is definitely Holly!”_ He recognized the grim determination in her face, one he had seen before right before Holly was about to do something dangerous or might get her into trouble.  
           Vernon reached into his bag and pulled out his computer game. It was going to be a long drive home…

**********

          When Cousin Harry didn’t immediately appear at the agreed upon meeting location two days after they had gotten out of that _place_ Grandmum hinted that Harry might never come and suggested they return to her room in London, collect her things and go to Meadowsgate to get Holly. But father insisted on waiting and Harry did arrive carrying a briefcase and a rather large shopping bag. “Sorry I was late,” he said in his usual calm voice, “but it took longer than I expected to get through the line…” He held up the shopping bag to emphasize.  
           “Where have you been?” growled father.  
           “Shopping,” answered Cousin Harry. “Also,” he added softly, “I visited Holly.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. We wanted to make sure she was O.K.”  
           “We?”  
           “The He-ah, doctor and I,” answered Cousin Harry.  
           “Winonan?” questioned mum and Vernon remembered that funny short guy who kept on mixing colours.  
           “Yes.”  
           “And?”  
           “I am pleased to announce that Holly can again speak normally and be understood.”  
           Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing was so disconcerting as to hearing those garbled sounds come out of Holly’s lips.  
           “But won’t everyone know you did something?” asked father worriedly.  
           “No,” replied Cousin Harry easily. “We came at night. She was asleep and no one saw us. The Doctors there will merely think their treatment has actually worked. We need to wait a week for the excitement of her “recovery” to die down and for Holly to get used to talking again before approaching her. Also, so there’s less chance she’ll connect her recovery to her experience the other day.”  
           “And the amnesia?” asked mum.  
           “We didn’t do anything about that,” admitted Cousin Harry solemnly.  
           “Why not?”  
           “Well, it doesn’t appear to be, ah, magically induced…”  
           “Couldn’t you have done something anyway?” asked father with frustration.  
           “No,” replied Cousin Harry. “The most I could have done is give Holly _my_ memories of her and believe me, you wouldn’t want that…”  
           “What’s in the bag?” questioned Vernon curiously.  
           Cousin Harry reached into the bag and pulled out a brand new laptop computer, still in the box!  
           “Woah!” said Vernon impressed.  
           “What’s that for?” questioned father suspiciously.  
           “You,” replied Cousin Harry calmly.  
           “Why?”  
           “You might need one before this gets all settled.”  
           “We already have a computer!”  
           “Not here,” replied Cousin Harry. “You can’t go back to your house or get your things and I figure you’re going to have to do some research to help you decide how to help Holly. Don’t log in under your usual passwords or check your messages, though,” he warned. “He may be watching for you…”  
           “But we’re unplottable,” protested Vernon.  
           “You may have been,” replied Cousin Harry calmly, “but Sir has your luggage and could have found a way around that.” Cousin Harry readjusted his glasses and then continued. “At the moment, Sir doesn’t know where you are and quite possibly thinks you’re dead,” he added calmly. “I’d like it to stay that way; it keeps you safe. We don’t think Sir knows Holly has amnesia; he’s probably been watching any place or person Holly may go to for help so don’t let anyone know you are alive and well or Sir _will_ find out…”  
           Then Cousin Harry opened the briefcase and pulled out a stack of papers which he said were copies of Holly’s medical records and suggested the information be used to help them to decide what to do next. The results were a trip to visit Holly and the subsequent journey to pick her up…

**********

          Five hours and two meals later the family finally rolled up to the driveway to their home. It was late and dark out; everyone was exhausted. In all that time, Holly never once spoke to anyone except to ask for her meds. (Honestly! Who _wants_ to take their meds???) Holly kept the earbuds in and the music on the whole time, even while they ate!!! Vernon Wycliff could tell that upset mum and father considerably. Of course, they said nothing to Holly about the music; they were too glad just to have her back, so to speak. Vernon was privately relieved that Holly no longer seemed to be a vegetarian; that had really messed up their meals a few years ago. On the other hand, Holly pointed to the first item on the menu and ate whatever arrived without comment.  
           Mum showed Holly her room and where the basics were before telling her “good-night” and leaving. Holly did not respond. Vernon lingered in Holly’s doorway in case she had any problems. It wasn’t really necessary. She stared blankly around the room for a moment and then fixed her green eyes on Vernon. “I’m going to bed,” she told him firmly. “Go away.” Vernon left.  
           A few minutes later there was a soft tap at Vernon’s door. He got up, opened the door and saw Holly standing in front of him, iPod and earbuds in hand. “I need a charger for my iPod,” she told him bluntly. “Do you have one?”  
           “Why?” he replied equally blunt.  
           “Because I need it.”  
           “You treat me like dirt all day, Holly, and _now_ you want to borrow my charger?”  
           “It’s _Jane_ , not Holly, and I don’t know you!”  
           “That’s no reason to treat me like dirt,” retorted Vernon. “How do you expect to make friends when you behave like that?”  
           “I don’t _want_ any friends,” Holly replied icily. “I just want a charger.”  
           Vernon stared back obstinately.  
           Holly finally lowered her eyes. “Please?” she whispered sounding something like the old Holly. “I really _need_ it…”  
           Vernon relented. “Wait here,” he told her. He went to his dresser, opened one of the drawers and fished out a charger that would work with her iPod.  
           “Here,” he told her handing her the charger. Holly grasped the charger tightly in her fingers and turned without a word.  
           “You’re being rude, you know,” Vernon called out after her.  
           She stopped and turned. “What?”  
           “You’re being terribly rude! Even if you can’t remember a thing, that’s no excuse for being so rude. Mum and father have bent over backwards trying to be nice to you and you totally ignore them! Some complete strangers take you into their home, feed you and provide you with a place to stay at no charge and you haven’t even the courtesy to say “thank-you!” Why did you agree to come anyway?” continued Vernon angrily. “I thought you wanted to see if anything jogged your memory. Well, you can’t have your memory jogged if you’re not trying!”  
           Holly’s green eyes flashed. “I’m here!” she retorted sharply, “and nothing is familiar!”  
           “Here in body only!” agreed Vernon readily. “But any memories that could be jogged haven’t a chance! You’ve been oblivious to the rest of the world all day with that music going on full blast in your ears!”  
           Holly looked down at the iPod and charger in her hands. “I _need_ my music,” she whispered. She turned and went into her room closing the door behind her.

**********

          Holly was up bright and early with iPod on and earbuds in place requesting her morning meds. But Vernon noticed the volume wasn’t quite as loud as on the previous day. Mum handed Holly her pills and later put the bottle of various medicines on the table declaring Holly clearly knew better than the rest of them what meds she needed and when. The morning meal of eggs, bubbles and squeak, grilled tomatoes and laverbread proceeded without incident. Holly actually said “please,” and “thank-you,” to mum when the food was served even adding a, “It’s delicious.” after taking a bite.  
           Mum flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “It’s your favorite!” she told Holly.  
           “Not mine,” Holly corrected coolly, “but it’s still good.”  
           “Well, what _is_ your favorite?” exploded father.  
           Holly closed her eyes in thought. “I've never thought about it before,” she replied softly when she opened her eyes. “Hospital food isn’t very, um, you know, but the red jello is pretty good,” Holly added lamely. “I guess that’s my favorite.”  
           After breakfast, Vernon retreated to his exercise station and began working out. The whole family had been relieved when Cousin Harry finally visited and pronounced that their house was safe to return to; it had been hard camped out in a B  & B room. But Cousin Harry adamantly insisted Father not return to work, mum not contact her friends or Vernon return to Smeltings until things were resolved with Holly. Vernon missed school.  
           After he had done several sets of weights, Vernon paused to take a break. He looked up and saw the green eyes of Holly staring back at him. In her hands was Vernon’s charger. Holly held the charger out to Vernon. “Thank you for letting me use your charger,” she told Vernon softly while holding the charger out for him to take. “May I borrow it again tonight?”  
           Vernon sat up, grabbed the towel and wiped off his face. “You can hang on to it while you’re here,” he told Holly. “I’m not using my iPod at the moment.”  
           “Thanks,” said Holly and stuffed the charger into her pants pocket. “S-sorry for being so rude,” she added hesitantly. “I guess I don’t know too much about being around, uh, regular people…”  
           “That’s O.K.,” replied Vernon. “You can always learn…” He stood. “Want to go for a walk?” he suggested. Ever since being restricted to the house, Vernon had felt an acute need to “get out!”  
           He saw Holly’s eye’s light up and he was certain she would agree. But then the light sort of died and she shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “No, thank you.”  
           Vernon frowned. “I know,” he said excitedly. “How about if you practice some Tang Soo Do with me?”  
           There had been a hasty meeting with Cousin Harry as soon as Holly had hung up the phone. Father didn’t want to but mum insisted; Cousin Harry had access to the only person resembling a doctor whom they could consult. Photos hadn’t worked and mum wanted to know what else they could do to help Holly’s memory return. “Don’t tell her anything about Hogwarts and, uh, us,” he told them, “unless she specifically asks first. It’ll be hard enough for Holly to remember regular sort of memories without unnecessarily overloading her with, uh, that sort of thing. Memories aren’t only visual,” Cousin Harry added. “It’s also sound, touch, taste, scent… Get her to do the things that are familiar and normal for Holly and maybe Holly’s memories will come to the surface…” Tang Soo Do was something Holly had been really into—she was a purple belt and had been looking forward to testing for her green belt!  
           “What’s Tang Soo Do?” asked Holly  
           “It’s uh, like Karate,” answered Vernon. “Come on! I’ll show you...”  
           The two had completed the warm-up exercises without difficulty and then Vernon demonstrated the first form. “That looks hard,” said Holly when Vernon had finished.  
           “Naw,” assured Vernon, “you’ll get the hang of it real fast!”  
           Suddenly Holly drew back. “Is this something _Holly_ did?” she questioned suspiciously.  
           “Uh, yeah,” admitted Vernon.  
           “Then I don’t want to do it!”  
           “Why not?” argued Vernon. “Lots of people practice Tang Soo Do!”  
           Holly folded her arms and hugged her body obstinately. “Not me!”  
           “Why? Just because of Holly?”  
           Holly didn’t answer.  
           “What’s wrong with being Holly?” demanded Vernon angrily.  
           Holly shook her head and left rapidly. Soon after Vernon heard to door to Holly’s room slam shut. He shook his head in frustration and stormed out of the house. What was wrong with Holly anyway?

**********

          Dinner was curried something. Mum was going for more “tastes” that Holly liked. Nobody else did though. Holly dug into her food with obvious appreciation until she noticed everyone else just picking at their food… “What?” she demanded at mid-bite. “Is this something _Holly_ supposedly likes?”  
           “Yes, dear,” replied mum softly. Holly had eaten curries while she was being a vegetarian.  
           “Well, I’m _not_ Holly!” stormed Holly. “And I _don’t_ like it; can I have a sandwich instead?”  
           “Yes, of course, dear,” said mum swiftly. She rose and swiftly prepared a ham and cheese sandwich for Holly, and another for father, and for herself and for Vernon. The curry was removed and everyone ate their sandwiches in silence…  
           “And before you ask, chocolate is _my_ favorite,” Vernon told Holly fiercely when mum brought out the dessert, a chocolate cake. “And if you don’t want any of it, that’s just fine with me because it means more for _me!_ ”  
           Holly ate her slice of cake quietly. “That was very good,” she told mum politely when she finished. “I think I _like_ chocolate… May I have some more?”

**********

          The next morning Holly ate her meal without comment. She cleaned her plate and finished her juice. “Thank you for the meal,” she said politely as she set the juice glass down on the table. “I’m all packed,” she told them, “When are we going to back to Meadowsgate?”  
           “What?” exploded father half rising from his seat.  
           “Meadowsgate,” replied Holly. “I’m ready to go back.”  
           “You surely don’t want to go back there,” exclaimed mum.  
           “I do,” answered Holly calmly. “I told you I just wanted to spend a couple of days. Well the two days have passed and I’m ready to return. You are nice people,” Holly added, “and the visit’s been interesting, but you’re _not_ my family; I am _not_ Holly, I do _not_ belong here and I want to go back.”  
           “No!” said father forcefully.  
           “If you don’t take me back then I will run away and try to get there myself. Or I shall call the authorities and ask them to take me to Meadowsgate. I know you think you are my parents but I shall tell them that Mr. Smythe, my _legal_ guardian, placed me in Meadowsgate and that’s where I wish to be…” With that, Holly stood up and went to her room. “Let me know when we are leaving,” she called out and closed the door behind her.

**********

          Harry Potter stopped outside of the door to Holly’s room. He remembered the first time he had come to this room, the thin skeletal child he had found within, and reveled in the memory. The headaches from straining to remember that which did not come easily had finally ended. Harry could again remember the Dursleys and his time with them, the good and the bad, mostly bad. But Holly, that had been good and Harry did not regret his decisions to help her even if it _did_ mean dealing with Dudley...  
           Phineas now read the _Daily Prophet_ aloud to them each morning rather than risk again falling under the effects of the memory charm. And, in a sudden burst of paranoia, Harry also asked Phineas to check the incoming mail for memory charms as well. The precaution paid off as a simple flyer announcing “Afterschool Sales” arrived the very next day containing the memory charm… Besides the usual messages, it contained a new line: _“Forget the Muggles at Kings Cross Station…”_ The flyer turned out to be bogus; Sir was obviously taking no chances to insure Harry and everyone else forgot Aunt Petunia.  
           Harry knocked lightly on the door to Holly’s room and then waited.  
           “Are we leaving?” called out Holly from inside.  
           Harry turned the doorknob, opened the door and stepped in. A pair of emerald green eyes looked up at him. They widened in surprise and recognition. _“Yeah,”_ thought Harry remembering the last time he had spoken to Holly. _“I remember you, too, this time.”_ More so now, perhaps than she did him.

**********

          Despite Fiona’s assertions and the evidence of the Weasley symptom bottles, Healer Winonan still doubted the existence of an Empath unknown to him… However he did heed Fiona’s advice to keep away from the _Daily Prophet_ and later listened to Harry’s more detailed explanations. He also insisted on seeing Holly for himself.  
           Healer Winonan strode down the corridors of Meadowsgate Lodge with confidence at 2:00am. It turned out that he had considerable experience in places such as it having participated in the spell reversals of numerous victims of Death Eater humour consigned to such places during the days of Lord Voldemort.  
           A simple sleep spell and a _Muffeliato_ spell kept the visit private and unknown from even Holly. Winonan immediately lifted the _Confringo Communicado_ curse after listening to Holly “sleep talk.” But it took rubbing itching cream onto the back of Harry’s hand and seeing Holly “scratch” the back of her hand to convince Winonan that Holly was indeed one of their own…

**********

          “My name is Harry Potter,” said Harry to Holly introducing himself. She watched silently as Harry pulled up the chair from her desk and sat down across from her. “I understand you wish to return to Meadowsgate Lodge,” he said quietly. “May I ask why?” Winonan had taken great stock in what he termed as the “Potter Touch” when it came to matters concerning Holly. Could he do it again in regards to her amnesia?  
           Holly sat up straight. She looked down and, to Harry’s relief, pressed something on the small case she held in her hand and removed the wires from her ears. Vernon said it played non-stop classical music. No doubt the total immersion in sound had enabled Holly to cope with all the outside emotions at Meadowsgate but Harry knew his emotions would scarce bother Holly and he did not want to compete with the distraction. Then Holly looked back at Harry. “Because they _promised!_ ” she said explosively.  
           “Hmmm,” said Harry thoughtfully. That wasn’t exactly the way Laurel had explained it—it was more of, “She suggested and we never disagreed…”  
           “And why do you wish them to keep this promise?” Harry asked softly.  
           “Because, because,” Holly stopped. Her eyes rolled in thought. Then she looked back at Harry. “Because they think I’m this _Holly!_ ” she answered. “I’m not! I’m **Jane!!!** Oh, sure, they call me “Jane,” to my face,” Holly added in a rush, “but that’s not the name they’re using in their minds. Whenever they look at me I _know_ they’re seeing “Holly.” And there’s such disappointment in their faces when I don’t say or do things the way _Holly_ did! I’m _not_ Holly! I want to go back to where people call me “Jane” because that’s my name and who I am!”  
           How to put this? “Um, you can’t go back to Meadowsgate,” Harry said bluntly.  
           “What?!!! But that’s, that’s _kid_ napping!!!”  
           Harry winced inwardly at her word selection. _“Oh, yeah, Holly remembered their meeting in that room. How else would she know to throw that reference back at me?”_ Odd no one reported that she had mentioned or asked questions about it to anyone… Aloud Harry said. “No matter who or what you think of the people in this house,” he began carefully, “they want nothing but the best for you and unfortunately, that is no longer Meadowsgate.”  
           “Why?!” Holly demanded.  
           “Because of this.” Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottles of medication Holly had been using during her stay—empty bottles… He tossed the bottles on the bed next to Holly.  
           Holly picked up one of the bottles and looked at it blankly.  
           “There was a weeks supply of medicine in those bottles two days ago,” Harry told Holly, “and now there isn’t. I’m fairly certain that Vernon and his parents did not take any of that medication, which leaves only you…”  
           Holly put down the first bottle and picked up the second.  
           “The most amazing thing about all this,” continued Harry, “is that not only did you manage to consume all those pills in two days without dying of an overdose, but you did it without showing any ill effects at all!”  
           Holly put down the second bottle and looked up at Harry.  
           “The meds aren’t working any more,” Harry told her bluntly.  
           “They’ll get me more,” she told him defiantly. “Ones that do!”  
           “And when they quit? What then?” demanded Harry. “Do you plan to break into the pharmacy and take whatever you can find until something works?”  
           “No!” exclaimed Holly. “I wouldn’t!”  
           Harry reached into his pocket again and pulled out several Muggle prescription bottles that had once rested on the kitchen table and shelves of the medical cabinets in the Dursely bathrooms—all of them empty. “But you already have!” reminded Harry softly and he tossed the other empty bottles on the bed besides Holly. “The good people at Meadowsgate may honestly claim ignorance that you would do such a thing but you and I know differently…” Harry let his voice trail off and waited a bit to let his words sink in. Then he continued. “You were desperate enough to cheat here, and you’ll do it there, too, if you must!” Harry told her. “You may even manage to take a combination of pills and drugs that succeed in killing you! Is that what you want?”  
           Holly buried her face in her knees and began to rock gently back and forth.  
           “It’s not what we want,” Harry told her. “And as responsible adults, we would be remiss in allowing you to go into a situation where it could likely happen…”  
           “I _have_ to go to Meadowsgate,” Holly whispered. “I’m schizophrenic!”  
           “No, you’re not!”  
           “I have hallucinations!”  
           “So?”  
           “And mood swings!” Harry looked at her without speaking. “And I hear voices!”  
           “One or many?” asked Harry. Holly didn’t answer. “Is it a high squeaky kind of voice that grates on your ears?” Harry questioned.  
           “How did you know?” asked Holly in surprise while looking up at Harry, her face wet with tears.  
           Harry sighed. “I’ve met the guy,” he told her.  
           “What?”  
           “You have PTSD, Holly. The doctors at Meadowslake can’t treat you for what you have because you can’t even remember the traumatic experience that got you there!”  
           “So tell them!”  
           “And try to convince them that there really are weird creatures out there with bat-like ears and red tomato shaped noses? I think not,” retorted Harry. “They’d set me up in a room right next to yours!”  
           That silenced Holly. She looked down and began to rock some more. “I’ve an imaginary cat,” she whispered. “One that visits me every night. That’s not traumatic…”  
           “Really?” asked Harry with interest. “What colour?” Ever since his memories had returned Harry had wondered what had happened to Holly’s cat Sasha. The cat would have never left Holly willingly. Sir had taken the cat out first in the park; had he done so again? Who would notice or mention a dead cat on the roadside…  
           “She’s invisible.”  
           “Ah,” said Harry with understanding. Holly had managed to protect her family before loosing her mind; she must have done something for her cat too. He shifted to a more comfortable position in the chair.  
           Holly sniffed. “What’s that mean?”  
           “It means, … “ah,” replied Harry firmly. He reached up and adjusted his glasses. “Look,” he told her. “I get not wanting to be with people who treat you as if you are someone you aren’t. If you really don’t want to stay here we can fix something up for you elsewhere—in the city, or the country, or wherever. You choose. But you can’t go back to Meadowsgate.”  
           Holly hid her face in her lap and started rocking again.  
           Harry continued. “Personally, I think the best bet for you would be some deserted island in the South Pacific, or the North, if you’d rather. Less chance of mood swings you see, but that won’t take care of all your problems,” he told her. “That annoying squeaky voice, for instance, will probably be with you wherever you go.” Holly continued to rock back and forth. Harry could hear muffled sobs as well.  
           He studied the forlorn figure in front of him. Healer Winonan was certain the amnesia was more than an accidental bump on the head. It didn’t appear to be magically induced yet Apparating with a house elf should have called forth all sorts of magical memories, but apparently hadn’t. That meant Holly was somehow suppressing her own memories, deliberately _not_ remembering... Holly’s lack of interest in what happened that day was another indication that she didn’t _want_ to know! Even now, Holly hadn’t pursued the PTSD diagnosis Harry had given her, hadn’t wanted to learn the specifics. She hadn’t even wanted to know about Pettigrew! Harry couldn’t imagine how anyone could self-induce amnesia, but then, he wasn’t the doctor. Why one might wish amnesia? Well, he could understand that—he hadn’t missed not remembering about the Durselys. But Holly’s family was nothing like the one he grew up in; how could she _not_ wish to remember them?  
           “Is this what you really want?” Harry asked softly. “To be locked away in some obscure hospital so filled with drugs you can’t see straight let alone walk? You’re young,” he reminded her. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life so buried in music that you’re oblivious to the world around you? No family or children of your own? Is this what you want? What you _really_ want?”  
           Holly continued to rock back and forth. Her muffled sobs grew louder.  
           Harry watched her rock quietly while he considered what else he could say…  
           “It’s the only way to keep them safe,” she suddenly whispered.  
           Harry froze. Whom would “Jane” wish to keep safe? The staff at Meadowsgate? According to Vernon, Jane neither had nor desired friends. Holly, on the other hand, had much to loose…  
           “From whom?” questioned Harry in a voice as soft as Holly’s, afraid to break the spell of the moment. For a long time there was no answer but Harry waited patiently.  
           _“Him!”_ Holly suddenly hissed and her whole body seemed to shutter with the word.  
           There was no doubt in Harry’s mind who “him” was! Only the thought of one person could cause her to behave like that. But it didn’t make sense. How could amnesia keep anyone safe? Holly would need her memories to protect people, to know even whom to prote—Harry’s mind froze mid thought. “Jane” knew no one, had no friends, had no interest in anything magical and persisted in thinking the outside emotions she felt were only “mood swings…” “Jane” was the kind of person Sir would find most difficult to … manipulate… “You didn’t expect to escape, did you?” Harry whispered aloud in disbelief.  
           Holly’s muffled sobs became open crying. Almost without thought Harry slid onto the bed next to Holly, drew her curled body under his arms and held her tight. Holly cried a long time while Harry held her and tried to make sense of the new information. “But the “Fetch” command,” he finally protested. “Surely you knew your father would call for you!”  
           “S-Sir told me they were d-dead,” Holly whispered.  
           “But you ordered Winky to protect them!”  
           “That was b-fore Sir caught up with me and told me what he had done!” Holly explained. “He said I’d never leave him again…”  
           “And you believed him?” questioned Harry aloud. “Of course you did! Why wouldn’t you?”  
           “I couldn’t call Winky back,” Holly added bleakly. “There was no escape…”  
           “And so you did what you could to protect your friends…” Harry remembered Sir had tortured Conner. Sir’s holiday card that made its way to Holly’s unplottable home was just as chilling as it demonstrated Sir knew where Holly’s friends Becky and Mark lived. Sir had only to make threats against them to gain Holly’s cooperation… Such threats would work only if Holly “knew” who her friends were…  
           “That was a very brave and noble thing you did,” Harry told Holly hugging her even tighter. “The kind of thing I might have attempted in a similar situation, except…” Harry broke off. It was the kind of thing Harry would have done but he was _Gryffindor_ and Holly wasn’t… How could the Sorting Hat have gotten things so wrong? Or had it?  
           Unable to wait for the memory charm to wear off, afraid it never would, Ginny had dug out all the letters they had gotten from Hogwarts. Harry and Ginny had re-read each in the hopes they contained references to Holly. The activity had given Harry a fresh perspective on the situation.  
           “You’ve had a pretty rough year,” Harry began thoughtfully. “Alone and dependent on Sir in captivity… All those notes from Sir after you escaped keeping you scared and looking over your shoulder…” Harry continued. There were several notes from Albus about the letters Holly had received from Sir and their effect on her... “And that thing with Sabois…” Harry added. Albus also criticized the Hufflepuffs for ignoring and belittling Holly, just because she didn’t like Sabois. Harry now realized the Gryffindors had been doing the same thing to Albus, but Albus had been too proud to complain. “You’ve been alone all year,” Harry told Holly. “Not physically alone,” Harry corrected himself, “but alone just the same. Like in the park,” Harry reminded when Sir had impersonated Vernon and tried to capture the whole family. “People all around yet you didn’t dare say a thing… You were alone there too. And on the train...” Harry mused aloud thoughtfully. Sir should have been in Azkaban then, yet he wasn’t. The Wycliffs should have been unplottable yet Sir had found them anyway. How had Sir done it? Harry didn’t know.  
           “He’ll _always_ find me!” Holly whispered in despair. “Never leave me alone!”  
           “You’ve done well, Holly,” Harry complimented unable to refute her assessment of Sir. Like Voldemort, Sir did not seem willing to let go. “Really well. But you’ve done it all _alone_ ,” he reminded. “That would be fine for a Gryffindor like me,” Harry told her, “but you’re a _Hufflepuff_ , Holly, a Hufflepuff _alone_.” Harry leaned his back against the wall and stared blankly at the ceiling as he thought. Then he continued. “I didn’t know much about the Hufflepuffs until I met you, Holly, and still don’t,” Harry admitted. “But the one thing I _have_ learned is that Hufflepuffs are at their best when they work _together…_ ”

 


	10. Chapter 10

          “Come in,” called out Minerva McGonagall when she heard the knock at the door. The heavy door opened and the tall slender figure of Erlinda Iverson entered. Her dark brown hair was coiled high on her head making her look even taller. Erlinda’s long orange and brown robe swayed gently as she moved and blended in with the mahogany walls and flickering candlelight. Minerva stood to greet her.  
           “Thank you for coming,” she told Erlinda. “I believe you know Mr. Potter?” Minerva added introducing Harry, who had also stood on her arrival.  
           “Not personally,” admitted Erlinda. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter.”  
           “This is Professor Iverson,” Minerva added completing the introductions.  
           “Professor,” said Harry softly and nodded his head by way of greeting.  
           “Won’t you please have a seat?” Minerva suggested indicating the unoccupied chair next to her. Her chair was in front of her desk making the situation more intimate than formal. Besides, this was a meeting Minerva had called on Harry’s behalf.  
           Erlinda nodded. “What is this about?” she questioned curiously as she sat. Harry sat as well.  
           “I believe it would be best if Mr. Potter explained things,” said Minerva after she had resumed sitting. Her head was still reeling from the conversation Harry had had with her the previous night.  
            Erlinda turned her head to Harry expectantly. “It’s, ah, about my cousin Holly,” he answered blandly.  
           “Who?” Erlinda asked blankly. Her response was much the same as Minerva’s when Harry had said the same thing.  
           Harry did not answer. “Did you attend the Cup last summer?” he asked instead as he reached out to Minerva’s desk and removed one of the newspapers on it.  
           “No.”  
           “But do you remember the explosion that happened then?” Harry persisted.  
           “Yes, of course,” replied Erlinda.  
           “Remember this?” Harry questioned holding out the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his hand so she could see the headline.  
           Erlinda glanced briefly at the paper, its huge headline reading, “Portkey Explosion!” and the accompanying photo of a billowing cloud of horrible black smoke.  
           “Yes,” she replied looking distinctly uncomfortable no doubt, remembering what that smoke meant. That was how Minerva felt when reminded of the explosion. “We nearly lost some of our own that day!” Erlinda whispered.  
           “You did,” agreed Harry in that same soft voice. “I’ve a favor to ask,” he said gently. “Could you take a few minutes to read this article now?”  
           “I’ve already read it,” replied Erlinda stonily. She clearly did not want to dredge up memories of that day.  
           “I know,” agreed Harry. “But could you read it again, here, now?”  
           “What?” asked Erlinda in disbelief.  
           “It’s important.”  
           Erlinda looked questioningly at Minerva. Minerva nodded in agreement.  
           “Please?” added Harry.  
           So Erlinda took the paper from Harry and started reading. Minerva could almost peg the moment her eyes found mention of Holly Wycliff. The casual relaxed reading pose suddenly turned rigid and her knuckles turned white as they gripped the edges of the page.  
           “What nonsense is this?” Erlinda suddenly demanded. “There was no Holly Wycliff!”  
           “Keep reading,” urged Harry softly. “Then we can talk.”  
           Harry handed Erlinda the second newspaper, the one reporting Holly’s funeral before Erlinda could comment on the first one. “Remember this?” he asked. That edition gave Minerva chills as she could clearly see a photo of herself standing in attendance but couldn’t remember being there.  
           Erlinda looked up after reading the articles. “These are plainly falsified,” she said bluntly. “But to what end? And why show me?”  
           “I didn’t falsify these,” assured Harry. “I haven’t the knowledge. We found them in storage at our house. But I have an idea of what happened…” Harry got the final paper from Minerva’s desk and handed it to Erlinda to read. From where she sat Minerva could easily read the headline, “She’s Alive!” and see the photo of a smiling girl with beaded braids swaying gently about her face.  
           Harry and Minerva waited patiently while Erlinda read the articles. “You trying to tell me that this is all the work of somebody named Sir?” Erlinda asked when she had finished.  
           “Uh, yeah,” replied Harry in that same soft voice. “And more.”  
           “I find that hard to believe.”  
           “I know it’s difficult to believe,” agreed Harry. “In fact, it would be very easy to assume this was some scam job with only the _Daily Prophet_ to look at,” continued Harry, “but there are other things as well…”  
           That had been Minerva’s reaction. She was certain Rita or one of Harry’s other enemies had found a way to put one over on him… Certain they had found a new way to make Harry look delusional… That’s when Harry bluntly asked, “Where’s Snape?” Minerva looked up and indeed the picture frame that usually held the portrait of Snape was empty… She had no idea where he was. “Isn’t it true that Headmaster portraits can only travel to other portraits of themselves?” persisted Harry. Minerva had to agree. “So when did the second portrait of Snape get made?” Minerva had no answer for that either. That’s when Minerva learned that Snape was currently “on assignment” observing Sir in his hideout! In addition, all the portraits on the walls concurred! After that, as improbable as it seemed, Minerva agreed there _had_ to be a Holly Wycliff. Minerva intended to have a very long conversation with Snape once he again appeared…  
           “I don’t know what kind of private student records you may have that may hold Holly’s name,” Harry continued, “but I found this in Hagrid’s hut.” Harry pulled out a wrinkled, stained, flattened piece of parchment and handed it to Erlinda.  
            So that’s where Harry spent the day. Due to the late hour, Harry had spent the night at Hogwarts after their meeting. He had kept out of sight during the day while waiting for Erlinda’s classes to end not wishing his presence at Hogwarts to be known. Knowing Hagrid’s haphazard, near non-existent record-keeping abilities, Minerva shuttered to think of exactly where Harry had found it. Bedding for Fang?  
           Erlinda unrolled the parchment and smoothed out some of the wrinkles before reading it. Then she placed it on the desk. Curious, Minerva picked up the parchment and looked at it too. It appeared to be a memo dated five years earlier. It informed the staff of a late arriving student named Holly Wycliff, sorted into Hufflepuff who had a medical exemption to bringing along a cat to class… With a start, Minerva recognized her own signature at the bottom. She didn’t remember writing it. Harry then passed a second crumpled parchment to Erlinda. Erlinda read it and handed it to Minerva. It was another unfamiliar memo, two years after the first one, also signed by Minerva, informing the staff that, due to medical reasons, Holly Wycliff was not to travel _alone_ within Hogwarts or, on the Hogwarts grounds or at Hogsmeade. It also instructed the professors to report any strange or unusual behavior of Miss Wycliff to Madam Pomfrey… What was that all about?  
           “And there’s this,” Harry added pulling out neatly rolled parchment tied with blue and gold ribbon. From the outside, Minerva could see it had been addressed to Harry; the seal had been broken. Erlinda untied and removed the ribbon placing it on the desk before unrolling the parchment. Minerva knew the contents of this parchment because Harry had shown it to her earlier. It was a letter written by Hufflepuff Prefect Donna MacMillan requesting a photo of Holly Wycliff for the memorial the Hufflepuffs were planning to make. The letter was counter-signed by _Erlinda Iverson_ , head of the Hufflepuff House. She would surely recognize her own signature.  
           Erlinda stared at the letter a long time before finally rolling it up and retying it with the blue ribbon. “How could all this be possible?” she questioned in disbelief.  
           “There’s a very powerful memory charm on each issue of the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Harry informed her. “It tells the reader every day to “Forget Holly” and “Forget Sir. The effects of the charm wears off eventually, as long as you keep away from the paper,” Harry added. The news of its temporary nature had been a source of considerable relief to Minerva when Harry had told her. “I wouldn’t have bothered you with all this,” Harry apologized to Erlinda, “but I need your help, sooner than not.”  
           “What do you want?” Erlinda asked as she returned the parchment to Harry.  
           Harry took a deep breath. This was the moment he was waiting for. “I come here on behalf of Miss Holly Ann Wycliff,” he began. “She wishes to be _remembered_ by her Hufflepuff friends and desires their assistance in dealing with … _Sir._ ”

**********

          Paige Crowley stepped out of the shop and onto the narrow twisty path. Knockturn Alley was disreputable, but it was the best place to get the things she wanted.  
           It had been a fairly successful day—a meeting in the morning with Tom’s parents to plan the wedding—something small and intimate in the garden… Big weddings were for people who had something to prove—outward displays to make a statement or to offset internal insecurities. Paige needed none of that and the Richardsons had readily agreed. Of course, they were probably thinking of the cost differences between a big wedding and a small but that didn’t matter to Paige.  
           Then she had found and purchased several difficult-to-obtain herbs and ingredients at very good prices. Paige needed lots of potion supplies. Wizard Pilkington had agreed to let Paige introduce and sell her potion products at his annual fundraising ball. It was a great opportunity considering the size and kind of attendance the Ball generated each year. Everyone who was anyone came to Pilkington’s Ball. Paige spent all her time preparing a variety of potions in anticipation—the basics, of course, (headaches, sleeping, relaxing, minor aches and pains…) and several original potions made just for the Ball.  
           Paige opened the door to her flat, went inside and set her basket on the small table within. Then she started putting away her purchases. She stopped abruptly when she noted a slender green potion bottle in the middle of her basket. How had that gotten there? Paige knew she hadn’t gotten anything in a green potion bottle. She picked up the bottle curiously. A piece of folded paper was tied around the neck of the bottle. Paige removed the paper and set the bottle on the table. There was a simple note on the paper.

          “Please meet with me tonight at 6:30pm.”

          A location followed. At the bottom of the page was the word “Serenity.” The name gave Paige chills! She had named one of her potions that and Auntie D. had used the potion against her. Was this a signature or something else? Who would have known the significance of the word “Serenity?”  
           Paige turned her attention to the bottle. It was the kind of bottle she liked to put her potions in. On the outside was a simple label: _Harmony._ The name was unfamiliar. Paige removed the gold stopper. It turned into a spoon! That was _her_ invention! But she didn’t remember the bottle or the name! Nor had Paige given her spoon/cork to someone else for use. Paige looked inside the opened bottle. There was a small amount of potion inside. Placing a finger over the opening, Paige tipped the bottle over and got some onto her finger. She tasted it—lemon mint? Those were flavours she would use! But this wasn’t her potion; she hadn’t made it. Paige tapped the spoon and it turned back into a stopper. Definitely her invention! She returned the stopper to the bottle and set the bottle back on the table.  
           Thoroughly unsettled, Paige finished putting away all her other purchases while she considered the bottle and note… Paige had lost nearly a year of her life in memories because Auntie D. had kept her in the thralls of the _Imperius Curse_. Had it happened again? Had she (Paige) created _Harmony_ and somehow been made to forget afterwards? But how could that be? After a year under its influence, Paige was certain that she could resist the effects of an _Imperius Curse_ _unless_ it was accompanied by a dose of _Serenity_ so she was very careful to eat only foods she had supervised or prepared herself. How could someone have gotten her to make the potion with Tom hovering nearby? He would have surely noticed her a change in her behavior; he had before…  
           The front door opened and Tom came in. Paige hastily grabbed the bottle and note and tucked them out of sight. “How’d it go?” asked Tom.  
           “Fine,” replied Paige. “I found several herbs that I need for that new potion I am thinking of.”  
           “Terrific!” said Tom cheerfully. “Have you ever heard of the Wizard Chess Club?”  
           “Isn’t that the exclusive club where you can only attend by invitation?”  
           “Yep! Apparently one of the Wizards took sick at the last minute and I got invited to replace him!” he told her excitedly. “What a great chance to meet people and show off my abilities!”  
           “Indeed!” agreed Paige. “When is it?”  
           “Tonight! At 6:00. Isn’t that great?”  
           “It is!” Paige smiled. Wizard Chess club had a reputation of lasting until the wee hours of the morning. Tom’s absence would give her a chance to investigate that bottle of potion…

**********

          The address on the note led Paige to a very small door barely hanging on its hinges in the middle of the alley next to a prominent pile of rubbish. Paige drew her wand and cautiously knocked on the door. She heard a noise within and then the door creaked open. A thin woman with large brown eyes, dirty blonde hair and a blue bandana tied on her head opened the door. Paige stared at her imperiusly; the woman stared back expectantly. After two minutes of total silence, Paige decided her usual practice of stony silence would not disconcert this lady so she reached into her pocket and removed the note. She handed the note to the lady. This motion caused the lady to look down breaking her gaze on Paige. She looked at the note briefly and then backed up standing to one side leaving the door open. Paige entered.  
           The room was very small, scarcely a hole in the wall, with peeling wallpaper, two plain chairs, a worn sofa and a small table but Paige noticed none of that for her eyes immediately fixed on the person standing in the middle of the room. Tall, thin, untidy hair, glasses, wearing plain black dress robes, Harry Potter!  
           “Thank you for coming,” said Potter confirming that he was the person had had sent the note. “Won’t you please sit down?” he added indicating the chair nearest her with a nod of his head. As he spoke, the lady stepped out the front door closing the door behind her. Paige remained standing ignoring the offer of a chair. Why was Potter here? Though she had seen him around enough to recognize him, Paige had never before spoken to the man.  
           “In answer to your question,” continued Potter conversationally though Paige hadn’t spoken a word, “No, I did not put the bottle in your basket. But yes, I did give the bottle to someone who gave it to someone who put it in your basket. I understand it was a fairly easy task; you might want to add an anti –tamper spell to your basket…”  
           Twice in one day! Had she lost her touch? Did her ice-cool imperius stare no longer make others squirm? “Where did you get this?” Paige demanded pulling the bottle of _Harmony_ out and slamming it down on the nearby table.  
           “From my cousin Holly,” came the answer.  
           “Who?” asked Paige blankly. She knew that Harry had no cousins named “Holly.”  
           “ _That_ would be the problem,” said Potter, “but I believe this will help clear things up.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rolled piece of parchment tied with a blue ribbon.  
           Paige stared at the parchment suspiciously. Besides the blue ribbon, it was sealed with a dark coloured wax. That meant it probably contained a spell of some sort, one that worked once the seal was broken… Did she really want to find out what kind of spell?  
           Potter shrugged. “Or not,” he said calmly as he placed the parchment on the table next to the bottle of Harmony. “The choice is yours,” he told Paige and sat down in the other chair. Then Potter fixed his eyes on Paige and waited.  
           Paige kept her face impassive as she considered her options. She could leave, of course. That fact had been made obviously clear by the flimsy walls and the unlocked door behind her. Or she could stay. If she stayed, what then? Open the parchment, which Potter clearly wanted her to do, or find out what she really wanted to know… Would Potter tell her? He had been forthcoming with other information, perhaps… In fact, Potter was known for his silence so all that information, freely given, was exceedingly unusual…  
           “Who made _Harmony?_ ” Paige asked bluntly. She watched Potter closely for his answer. Surely she could determine the truth of the matter no matter what he said…  
           “You,” Potter answered firmly. “Or, so I was told,” he amended.  
           Paige felt her knees weaken and she sat suddenly in the chair provided. Potter had just confirmed her worst fears; it had happened again! The whole world seemed to spin before her eyes.  
           Dimly Paige heard Potter say, “Forgive me. I had no idea the information would affect you so. Perhaps we should continue this some other time…”  
           “No,” Paige managed to say.  
           “Then please, look at the parchment. It will help, I promise.”  
           Paige did not move. Then she heard a gentle thud on the table next to her. She opened her eyes and saw Potter’s wand setting next to the potion bottle.  
           “Take all the time you need,” Potter said calmly. He was again sitting in the chair across from her. “But be assured that I mean you no harm…”  
           Paige stared at the wand in disbelief. One just didn’t relinquish a wand like that! It was unheard of! They were strangers! People who had only seen each other from across the room. How could Potter trust that she would not use his wand against him?  
           Paige raised her free hand (left) and took Potter’s wand off the table. It felt, different, somehow, not a all like she expected a wand that had defeated the Dark Lord would feel, but to be honest, the last time Paige had felt any wand but her own had been that day at Ollivanders before she had been sorted… Finding her own wand still in her other hand, Paige placed Potter’s wand in her lap and then picked up the parchment. “Nothing ill?” she questioned as she held it closer for her inspection. There was some sort of head imprinted on the seal but in the flickering light, she couldn‘t make out what…  
           “Nothing ill,” confirmed Potter in that same calm voice while watching her steadily. Nothing in his manner indicated uncertainty or deceit. Potter had a reputation for honesty…  
           Still keeping tight hold of her wand, Paige pulled one end of the ribbon untying it. The ribbon fell to the floor. Paige then slid her left thumbnail between the papers and broke the seal. Nothing happened. Gripping both wand and the end of the paper with her right hand, she used her other hand to unroll the parchment… A sudden explosion of images seemed to burst through her mind! Hundreds and hundreds of them all competing for recognition at the same time! And then, nothing!

**********

          Paige opened her eyes. She saw a dingy ceiling filled with cracks—unfamiliar! _“NOooooo!”_ her mind screamed recognizing the sensation of uncertainty that had filled her so many times before of waking and not knowing where she was.  
           “How are you feeling?” questioned a faintly familiar voice. Paige turned and saw Harry Potter sitting in a familiar looking chair next to her. Beyond him was a familiar table with a rolled piece of parchment and a familiar bottle of potion sitting upon it. Paige’s fears immediately subsided. She knew where she was and what had happened. She must have fainted after she opened the paper…  
           “Fine,” lied Paige for in truth she felt rather disorientated but would never admit to that. Mr. Potter held out a hand offering assistance in sitting up. Paige took it gratefully but kept all expression out of her face. “What was that?” she asked as she sat up.  
           “Flash Paper,” Mr. Potter said solemnly.  
           “Flash Paper is a low level last minute desperate attempt of Hufflepuffs to remember things they ought to have learned in the first place, often used right before an exam, or quiz, if they can get away with it,” replied Paige. “That was not Flash Paper.”  
           “Yeah, well, the staff at Hogwarts apparently want their students to remember things the regular way during exams…” said Mr. Potter dryly. “That was the special hopped-up version used by,” he stopped. “I don’t know who uses it,” he confessed thoughtfully, “but I was assured it was a bit more effective than the version sold to students.”  
           “Assured by whom?” questioned Paige.  
           Mr. Potter shrugged. “That doesn’t matter now,” he told her. “The important part is did it work?”  
           “Work?”  
           “Yeah, remember Holly?”  
           “Yes, of course,” replied Paige promptly. And then suddenly she realized that only minutes earlier she had denied knowing Holly, _hadn’t_ remembered her.  
           “And _Harmony?”_  
           “Yes.” And as she spoke Paige saw Wizard Thomas in her mind holding that very potion bottle in front of her demanding to know the same thing she had recently asked Mr. Potter.  
           “And Sir?”  
           “Yes!” Paige’s mind chilled as she remembered the angry cold blue eyes of Wizard Ercwlff boring into her.  
           “Good!” replied Mr. Potter with satisfaction. “It would seem your memory is much improved.”  
           “How was it done?” asked Paige certain now that her memory loss had no connection to the casting of an _Imperius Curse._  
           “A memory charm in the _Prophet,”_ Mr. Potter answered promptly. “Keep away from it until further notice if you wish to retain your memories.”  
           “You haven’t removed the charm?” questioned Paige in surprise.  
           “No,” he said calmly. “I’d rather catch its maker unaware and I’d very much like your assistance.”  
           “Who?”  
           “Sir, I think.”  
           “But we caught him!” Paige reminded Mr. Potter.  
           “The memory charm reads, “Forget Holly” and “Forget Sir,” so I’m guessing he got out somehow…” Mr. Potter informed her.  
           Paige closed her eyes. She remembered the shock she felt when she learned Sir had found a way to saturate the air with _Serenity_ nearly killing her and the weeks she had spent at the Black family mansion trying to devise a way to counter it… She opened her eyes and looked directly at Mr. Potter. “What’s the plan?”

 


	11. Chapter 11

          Gordon T. Smythe carefully considered the paper in his hand. After a moment, he placed it in the pile that was slightly to his left on the desk in front of him. Then he picked up the next letter. Reading through the requests for money was a time-consuming task but important. There were so many worthwhile projects in need of money that they just couldn’t help them all. He placed the letter in his hand also in the pile to the left and picked up the next letter…  
The phone rang.  
           “Yes?” said Gordon while scanning the contents of the letter in his hand.  
           “There’s a young lady here to see you,” came the voice of his receptionist. “She hasn’t got an appointment, but seems to think you might be willing to see her anyway…”  
           Gordon stared at the never-ending pile of charity requests in front of him. He could use a break. “What’s it about?”  
           “She won’t say but maintains it’s important…”  
           “Her name?”  
           “Jane Smith.”  
           _Jane Smith!!!_ The last time Gordon had felt his blood turn so cold was the day he realized that the girl he had named “Jane Smith” had somehow vanished from Meadowsgate! The Doctors and staff were convinced some specialist from the Americas had presented all the appropriate paperwork to take her away and had done so. But nothing could be found to corroborate their story or that impression. In fact, none of the paperwork about Jane could be found. Later detectives had determined no one fitting Jane’s description had ever left the country! Nor could they find any trace of her within Great Britain either. Jane Smith had vanished so completely it was if she had never existed!  
           After Jane had been admitted into Meadowsgate, Gordon had hired several detectives to determine her identity, discretely, of course, but they had found nothing. That had made Gordon think she was a homeless waif and that a quiet hospital stay could work until he thought of something else. “Something else” had been postponed again when Jane appeared to have amnesia… Then she vanished! Gordon worried something bad had happened to her, but had no way to look into it further. So he hoped for her best and shoved thoughts of Jane Smith aside.  
           And now someone had turned up on his door claiming to be “Jane Smith.” Perhaps it wasn’t her. Gordon had no idea what she even looked like having maintained his distance from the whole situation from the very beginning. If it was her, what did she want? Money? Recognition? Did she intend some sort of blackmail? What proof did she have of her identity?  
           Gordon took a deep breath. “Send her in,” he told his receptionist. It was best to learn the worst now instead of spending time worrying what she would do if he refused to see her.  
           “Yes, sir.”  
           The knob of the door to his office turned and opened. Gordon put down his paper and mentally braced for the worst.  
           He was not prepared for the person who walked in. She wore a tailored royal blue jacket over a trim black dress that flared outward below the knees. Her blonde hair was swept high on her head held in place with some sort of stick. Small diamonds adorned her ears and a single silver chain with a small heart charm pendent encircled her neck. She stopped in front of Gordon’s desk.  
Gordon stood involuntarily at her presence.  
           “It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smythe,” began the lady warmly not waiting for him to speak. She held out her hand expectantly.  
           “Miss Smith?” he said hesitantly as he took the hand; she shook it enthusiastically. The person in front of him looked very young, perhaps the age the Doctors had given to Miss Smith, but she looked the picture of health, physically and mentally, nothing like the babbling schizophrenic amnesiac they had described.  
           “Yes,” she answered. “I have something for you,” she added. Miss Smith removed her hand from his and reached into the small matching blue clutch purse she carried. She then withdrew a scroll tied up with blue ribbon and handed it to Gordon.  
           He looked at it curiously. It bore an official royal seal on the outside. Removing the ribbon, Gordon broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. He stared at the contents in disbelief. “It’s an invitation to visit Buckingham Palace?” he said in confusion.  
           “Mum uh!” agreed Miss Smith cheerfully. “Something about a Knight Commander ceremony…”  
           “Knight?” questioned Gordon in disbelief. That ceremony was intended for those getting knighted!!! “But how?”  
           “Well, my cousin knows a guy who, uh, has the Prime Minister’s ear… “ Miss Smith began hesitantly. “And um, we asked for a favour…”  
           Gordon looked up into the green eyes of Miss Smith. He had been trying all his life for this and to suddenly have it in his hand… Who was she to manage to get this done, and so quickly? “But why?” he asked aloud.  
           “You saved my life!” Miss Smith replied bluntly confirming in a single sentence that she was indeed the injured victim he had named. “And I am so very, very grateful!” she continued. “No words can adequately describe how I feel so I got you this instead…”  
           And he had dared to hide her in his hospital? If she had died and this cousin of hers had found out… Gordon shuttered to think of the consequences. Gordon stared again in wonder at the invitation. “I, ah, don’t know what to say…” he stammered.  
           “Say, “yes!” Miss Smith replied promptly.  
           “Huh?”  
           “Yes,” she repeated. “I’ve a very big favour to ask of you…”

**********

          Kenneth Kevala Perkins closed the book in defeat. His mind just wasn’t on studying. His friend, Vernon Wycliff, was missing. He had been missing for over a month and nobody seemed to care, nobody but Kenny.  
           When Vernon didn’t show up on the move-in day, Kenny was worried. He emailed Vernon to learn what happened. There was no response. Kenny then texted and phoned Vernon leaving numerous messages. But there was still no response.  
           Hilbert Montague (the school bully) had laughed when he spotted Kenny walking to class alone and told Kenny that Vernon had finally admitted he was not “Smeltings material” and wouldn’t be returning. Kenny didn’t believe Montague; Montague had said the same thing about Kenny to Vernon two years earlier and it hadn’t been true. But when Kenny had gone to the office to make inquiries about Vernon, the office had confirmed Montague’s statements. The people there said they had received a letter from Vernon‘s father that said he would not be returning to Smeltings.  There had been no request for transcripts or a forwarding address.  
           Mr. Ballytwirk, the school librarian, also noticed Vernon’s absence. Unlike Montague, he took Kenny’s concerns seriously and went with Kenny to the local police. He helped Kenny file all the missing persons forms and returned to learn the results of their search. Nothing. No unidentified bodies fit Vernon’s description; no sign of anything amiss…  
           In desperation, Kenny had turned to the “Stan the Cabman” card he possessed. Vernon and he had each gotten a card last year after Holly had been rescued from Sir. It was a way to contact her cousin Harry Potter, who was supposed to be a wizard. Vernon had used the card last year when they found those wands. Mr. Potter had arrived promptly looking for more details. So Kenny dialed the number on the card. A battered taxi had arrived immediately at the curb. But the driver, Stan, looked at Kenny as if he was a complete stranger, (Kenny had been there when Vernon called him the other time) didn’t seem to know who Vernon or Holly were and rather reluctantly took Kenny’s letter addressed to Harry Potter, London loudly saying “he weren’t no postman!” There was no response. Kenny wasn’t even sure if the letter had been delivered. The same thing happened the second time Kenny called Stan. Stan even denied that it was the _second_ time! Kenny couldn’t understand what was going on but was certain it all had something to do with Holly and Sir. Vernon was definitely in trouble, but Kenny didn’t know what else he could do to help.  
           Kenny gathered up his books and walked past the check-out desk. Mr. Ballytwirk, his nose in the latest tabloid magazine, didn’t even look up from whatever he was reading. Kenny ignored the splashy photo and headline of the tabloid as he walked out of the library; he’d caught the same topic on the news the previous night. Some newly knighted guy was accused of covering up the latest indiscretion of his son by hiding an accident victim in one of his charitable hospitals. He denied everything, of course…  
           A large shadow loomed over Kenny the moment he stepped out of the library. “That’s where you are!” came a familiar voice. It was Brad Pittman, Montague’s chief bully enforcer. “I’ve been looking for you…”

***********

          Jane Smith adjusted the pillow propping it up against the wall. Then she seated herself comfortably on the bed with her back against the pillow. Next, she placed the ear buds of her iPod in her ears, turned on the music and adjusted the volume. She closed her eyes, leaned back and sighed happily as the music flooded her senses. Jane loved listening to the music. She would listen to it all the time if she could, but that was not permitted. They took the iPod away from Jane at bedtime returning it only after she had consumed her morning meds. And Jane took it out before she washed or used the loo—Jane wasn’t too steady on her feet and things tended to get dropped or wet when in the bathroom. Otherwise the music was nonstop.  
           A firm hold of and a persistent shake of her shoulder forced Jane’s attention from the music. She reluctantly opened her eyes and saw a blurry figure in front of her. Ice blue uniform—must be one of the nurses, nothing of importance.  
           Jane ignored the nurse and returned her attention to the music swirling through her head. She barely heard the “Time to get up, Jane. You’ve got visitors,” over the music let alone comprehended the meaning of the words. The hand left Jane’s shoulder and moved to grip her wrist tugging up and away. Jane let herself be pulled out of her seated position. She stood on wobbly legs. Standing made her feel dizzy. But that was O.K. because the nurse moved her hand to Jane’s elbow supporting Jane as she stood so there was no danger of falling. The nurse urged Jane forward keeping her from stumbling or falling along the way. Jane moved her legs in the accordance with the nurse’s direction and returned her attention to the music.  
           Jane could remember nothing before her life at Meadowsgate. It was if she had always been there and always would be. Nothing mattered to Jane except the music playing in her ears. The music had no words—just unending strands of sound in a myriad of combinations. There were hundreds of different pieces on the iPod but Jane knew them all by heart now, knew each crescendo and diminuendo and all the other twists and turns the music made. The hardest part was when they took the iPod away to “charge” (every night at bedtime.) Then Jane felt restless and anxious.  
           The nurse continued talking as they walked. Jane only caught snatches of the words during lulls in the music—“…language specialist… cases such as yours…” The words meant nothing to her. The nurse stopped Jane in front of a wooden door, much to Jane’s dismay. That meant she was to see a doctor. Doctors didn’t like her listening to music while they spoke.  
           “I need your iPod,” said the nurse confirming Jane’s worst fears. Jane reluctantly pulled the iPod out, shut off the music and handed it and the ear buds to the nurse. The noise of the outside world immediately assailed Jane’s ears. Past experience had taught Jane they would get the iPod away from her eventually and if she cooperated, she would have a better chance of getting the iPod returned sooner. “You’ll give it back?” she asked the nurse worriedly. At least that was what Jane tried to say. What came out was closer to: “Slelbp reovmp wevet vkpples tyico?” Jane had no idea why the sounds always seemed to come out wrong, but they did. Consequently, Jane tried to talk as little as possible—it was less frustrating. Sometimes, when it came to something important like the iPod, Jane would often forget and speak up anyway.  
           “What?” asked the nurse. “You can do it,” she encouraged. “Tell me what you want. Perhaps if you slowed down…” she added hopefully.  
Jane stared at the nurse not bothering to repeating herself. The nurse seemed to think Jane could talk and actually be understood. Jane couldn’t ever remember a time when that had happened. Furthermore, Jane knew that the more she tried to make people understand, the less they seemed to get...  
           The nurse sighed in disappointment. “Come on, Jane,” she said. Let’s get you inside.” And she opened the door to the office. Then the nurse grabbed Jane’s elbow to lead her in. Jane turned her mind inward as they walked trying to remember the music she had been listening to hoping to recreate it in her mind. But it was no good. The talking had been too much of an interruption.  
           “This is Doctor Pocrates from Kos,” said the nurse as she helped Jane sit. Jane looked curiously at the person on the other side of the desk. He was standing with his back to Jane. He turned at the mention of his name. Tall, fair skin, blond hair and blue eyes. He held a stick in his hand and Jane suddenly felt incredibly, blissfully happy.  
           “Did you think you could hide from me forever?” the man said.  
           _“Huh?”_ thought Jane in confusion. It sounded as if the man knew her; did she know him? The happiness Jane felt made it difficult to focus on anything the man said. She quit trying and instead closed her eyes to fully enjoy the total bliss she was feeling. Of all the mood swings she had experienced, this was positively the best.  
           Jane heard the sound of the door closing and the happiness dimmed. She opened her eyes and saw the Doctor staring at her with intense blue eyes, his white hands were casually clasped resting on the desk. The dark knobbly stick lay on the desk in front of his hands.  
           Jane looked back curiously remembering suddenly that his earlier words implied that he knew her… No. She definitely did not recognize him.  They looked wordlessly at each other for what seemed like several minutes. Then the doctor smiled. It was the smile of one who had suddenly thought of a private joke or knew a secret. What did he know? He unlaced his clasped fingers. One hand took hold of the thick end of the knobbly stick, raised it and pointed the other end at her…

***********

          _“Imperius!”_ commanded Sir mentally while holding his wand at Holly. She immediately froze awaiting his next instruction.  
           There was something odd about Holly and he needed to find out what. Holly’s half smile had occurred instantly when he had placed the nurse under the _Imperius Curse_. Holly should have been blocking with all these people around. Why wasn’t she? Perhaps the Muggle drugs inhibited her ability to block… Then Holly had closed her eyes and smiled in true bliss of one feeling the effects of the _Imperius Curse_ but without the need to obey the commands that came with it. The expression on her face reflected both surprise and disappointment when the Nurse and her _Imperius_ “emotions” had left. Blocking or not, Holly had always recognized the source of the feelings she experienced, but not this time... And there had been no recognition or fear in the green eyes that stared back at him. Why? The _Confringo Communicado Curse_ he had cast should not have destroyed her memory. So what had happened?  
           “What is your name?” Sir questioned.  
           “Eilmyo seycit siw,” answered Holly calmly confirming she was still under the effects of the _Confringo Communicado_ _Curse._  
           Sir swiftly removed the curse. “What is your name?” he asked again.  
           “Jane Smith,” she answered, her face showing no surprise at her sudden ability to speak clearly again.  
           “What is your other name?” persisted Sir.  
           “Miss Smith.”  
           Sir frowned in thought. “Who is Holly Wycliff?”  
           “I don’t know.”  
           “Who are your parents?”  
           “I don’t know.”  
           “How long have you been here?”  
           “As long as I can remember.”  
           Sir reworded the question. “Where were you before you came to Meadowsgate?”  
           “Nowhere.”  
           “What is your earliest memory?”  
           “Pain,” came the answer.  
           “What kind of pain?”  
           “Pain.” Her expression darkened with remembrance.  
           “And then?”  
           “Music.”  Her expression relaxed.  
           “Music? What kind?”  
           “On the Ipod.”  
           “What Ipod?”  
           “The one the nurse took from me.”  
           “Interesting. And your earliest memory with a person?"  
           “A nurse gives me pills to take.”  
           "No one before that?"  
           "No."  
           “Total amnesia,” mused Sir thoughtfully. “However did you manage that? This changes things considerably.” Rising from his seat, Sir walked to the door and opened it. A Muggle orderly was passing by. Sir pointed his wand at the person and he walked obediently to Sir. Sir backed up letting the orderly enter the room. The Muggle came to a stop besides Holly’s chair and stood calmly awaiting his next order. Holly’s eyes remained forward oblivious of his arrival.  
           _“Muffeliato!”_ whispered Sir as soon as the office door closed behind him. He stared thoughtfully around the room finally settling on a heavy glass paperweight resting on the desk. “Place your hand on the desk,” he ordered the Muggle whose identification tag read Aaron Jeffers. Aaron did as instructed. Sir lifted the paperweight and smashed it down hard on the hand. Aaron did not flinch or show any sign of pain; he was still under the _Imperius Curse._ “What do you feel, Miss Smith?” asked Sir.  
           “Happy,” she answered without hesitation.  
           “Does your hand hurt?”  
           “No.”  
           Sir flicked his wand at Aaron releasing him from the _Imperius Curse._  
           “Owwwwww!” he immediately screamed lifting his hand from the desk and curling up with pain. “What happened?” he moaned.  
           “Does your hand hurt?” Sir asked Holly while ignoring Aaron completely.  
           “No.”  
           “Can you sense the emotions of the other person in the room?” persisted Sir.  
           “No.”  
           “I _order_ you to sense the emotions of this person!” commanded Sir. “Can you sense him now?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “What do you feel?”  
           “Happy.”  
           _“Crucio!”_ hissed Sir pointing his wand again at the orderly.  
           Aaron screamed in agony.  
           “What do you feel?” he again asked Holly while Aaron continued to scream.  
           “Happy.”  
           “Can you feel the pain of the orderly?” insisted Sir.  
           “Yes.”  
           “What does he feel?”  
           “Happy.”  
           Sir lifted his wand stopping the _Crucio_ spell. _“Vai durmir!”_ he ordered not wanting to be bothered by the Muggle’s whimpering. The Muggle immediately relaxed and fell into a deep sleep.  
           “Can you feel him now?” questioned Sir.  
           “Yes,” came the calm reply.  
           “What does he feel?”  
           “Happy.”  
           Sir sighed. It was obvious that use of the _Imperius Curse_ definitely impeded Holly’s ability to sense the emotions of others. He would have to secure her _conscious_ cooperation. But with amnesia, Holly did not know _how_ to cooperate… Could he _force_ a return of her memories? _Should_ he? An intriguing question but one he would contemplate later.  
           “Come with me, Jane,” Sir said walking towards the door. “It’s time we left Meadowsgate.” Jane obediently rose and followed.

**********

          “They’re leaving,” whispered Clayton Eggleton to Harry Potter. Clayton was the first person they tried the Flash Paper on. Apparently one had to be focusing on the missing memories when exposed to the paper for the best results. Clayton had helped Holly draw a portrait of Headmaster Snape as she remembered him from the other reality. The portrait’s absence from the explosion site had cause Harry and the Hufflepuffs to realize Holly wasn’t actually dead… When confronted with the copy of the portrait in his portfolio Clayton was at a loss to explain how it had gotten there…  
           “Holly’s following,” Clayton added informatively. “Wonder what he said to her to get her to come…” They were standing outside Meadowsgate Lodge. Both were under disillusionment spells so they could observe without being seen. Harry and the Hufflepuffs had been watching the Lodge in shifts ever since Muggle News had been fed the Smythe scandal information. Every person who entered or left the Lodge had been watched carefully for signs of magic. Visitors were given extra attention—their names were read from the registry by the Hufflepuff “substitute receptionist” (the regular one having taken “ill” unexpectedly) and phoned to Vernon, who ran them through the computer/internet for verification. The name “Dr. H. Pocrates, Linguist,” was not on any medical list Vernon could find.  
           “Mmm,” said Harry noncommittally. He peered closely at Holly and the man in front of her who had both stopped besides an auto in the parking lot. Holly stood straight and still. She would hardly be able to do that on her own with all the potions that the Hufflepuff “substitute cook” had laced Holly’s food with. It was more likely that the man who had signed himself in as Dr. H. Pocrates in the visitor registry had cast an _Imperius Curse_ on Holly. _“H. Pocrates?”_ Harry mused to himself. _“Hippocrates?”_ Yeah. The name fit with Sir’s penchance for aliases.  
           Harry watched as Sir opened the door for Holly. Sir waited until she had gotten completely in before closing the door. Then he walked to the other side and got in himself. As they watched, the auto started, backed up and then drove out of the parking lot.  
           “You’re up, Riley!” said Eddie to the small girl with short curly brown hair standing ready next to him. The girl nodded and got on a specially souped-up “child’s” broom. Harry pulled out his invisible cloak and draped it over her. A gust of wind and a rustle of leaves told Harry that Riley had taken off.  
           Riley Shipman was a very small first year Hufflepuff. Riley was also quite good on a broom. Harry learned she had completed Madam Hooch’s broom obstacle course without any errors in 8 minutes on the first try! Her small size meant that both she and the broom could be covered by Harry’s invisible cloak at the same time enabling Riley to follow the auto unnoticed. Riley had agreed without hesitation to help and had gotten special permission from both her parents and McGonagall to miss class for this purpose. While awaiting Sir’s arrival, Riley told Harry how she had seen the Portkey explosion and been in the crowds of Diagon Alley who cheered Holly’s triumphant return.  
           Harry watched the skies anxiously for any sign of Riley. He saw none. That was good. Harry knew Riley was fast, but could she keep up with the auto? He would learn soon enough. Now it was a matter of waiting. Clayton selected a shady spot with a view, pulled out his sketchbook and began to draw. Harry found a smooth spot under a sturdy tree and sat down leaning his back against the tree trunk. He wasn’t comfortable letting others take charge, but it had worked when he had taken Vernon to Chessington so perhaps it would work again…

**********

           “Clayton? Mr. Potter, sir?” a voice called out about an hour later. “It’s all clear!”  
           “Over here,” called out Clayton. He hastily put his things together and stood up. Harry Potter brushed off his pants and stood as well.  
           Rupert Shunpike, in an emerald green chauffeur uniform, walked through the bushes coming in from the side opposite of the Meadowsgate compound. Riley followed. “They Apparated!” Rupert informed them.  
           “He pulled the auto over to the side of the road, stopped and they both got out. Then he directed the auto to smash into a tree, and set the auto on fire. While it was still burning, he took hold of Holly’s wrist, waved his wand and they both vanished without a sound,” Riley added informatively as she handed Harry his cloak. “Was that Apparating? I didn’t know you could do that without making a sound.”  
           “Sir can,” assured Harry remembering Holly’s account of Sir’s arrival to and departure from her prison. “Thank you,” Harry murmured taking the cloak. He folded it swiftly and stuffed the cloak under his shirt.  
           They all followed Rupert to the dark green limousine with gold trim and a glittering gold and black rattlesnake hood ornament that was parked well away from Meadowsgate Lodge. Stan Shunpike’s taxi business and his friendship with Harry Potter was well known in the wizard community. Like Harry, Stan was sure to be under observation. Less known was the recently opened, more exclusive, Sidewinder Express business that Rupert Shunpike managed. When one wanted privacy, one took the Sidewinder…  
           “Where to?” asked Rupert in a professional sounding tone when they reached the limousine. He opened the limo door. Clayton and Riley proceeded to get in.  
           “Grimmauld Place,” replied Harry as he got into the limo. “I need to get Riley back to Hogwarts…” He would use Kreacher to take Riley to the Infirmary lending credibility to the story Madam Pomfrey had put out—that Riley had taken ill and been too sick to attend class… Hopefully, no one would learn where Riley had _really_ spent her time… “I’ll meet with you later to discuss our next move,” Harry added. Actually, it was more a meeting to discover what _his_ next move would be. The Hufflepuffs were very closed mouthed about their plans for helping Holly telling Harry things only as they applied to him. But for all their planning they could not predict the actions of Sir. Everything was up to Holly now.  
           “You got it!” said Rupert cheerfully. He closed the limo door, got in on the driver’s side and the Express glided smoothly off…

 


	12. Chapter 12

          It was too quiet. The overwhelming silence was almost deafening. Jane Smith opened her eyes. She stared in disbelief at the sunlight streaming on the lime green walls. Her room at Meadowsgate didn’t get sun until late afternoon and it never fell on the walls so high up! What had happened? Jane sat up. A purple comforter slid down. She instinctively grabbed it and saw a ruffled pink sleeve on her arm. Purple? Pink? Her clothes weren’t pink! Jane looked down at herself. She was wearing a light pink nightgown with delicate darker pink smocking on the front! How had that happened? Jane looked around and saw carved wood bedposts, a white wood chair, a small table, a colourful oval rag rug on a hardwood floor… That wasn’t right! Her room didn’t look like that! In fact, Jane could think of no room at Meadowsgate that looked like this!  
           Jane got out of bed and walked to the window. Ocean??? Jane stared in disbelief at the craggy cliffs, white foam and deep blue water. Meadowsgate was nowhere near an ocean! Where was she?!!!  
           Jane flew to the door. The knob turned easily and she ran out of the room. She passed quickly through the short hall stopping at a room that appeared to be a parlor of some sort. It wasn’t the burnished cherry wood furniture and china-blue porcelain fixtures that stopped her, but the person sitting in one of the chairs, holding up a newspaper. The newspaper dropped and Jane looked into two emerald green eyes. “Ah,” the man said. For it was an older man with blond hair wearing shirt and pants—not hospital attire. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”  
           “Where am—” Jane began and then stopped. She could _speak!_ Well, she could always speak in her head, but this time the words came out in a way that she could _understand_ too!  
           Suddenly the face split into a wide smile. “Yes!” the man said delightedly while standing up. He was quite tall, at least 2 meters or more. “I knew it!” The man folded up the paper in his hands put it on the end table. “I was certain once all those nasty medications worked their way out of your system your, ah, speech _impediment_ would clear up!”  
           Jane froze. _“What?”_ she thought to herself. _“The meds were supposed to be helping me! Was it possible they weren’t?”_ Jane had been taking the meds ever since she could remember… She also had been unable to communicate clearly ever since she could remember—could the two be connected?  
           “How are you feeling?” the man asked looking at her with interest.  
           “Fine,” Jane answered automatically while still marveling that she could understand herself. As she spoke Jane abruptly realized that she felt more than fine—her head felt clear, no dizziness, no muddying sluggishness, no confusing jumble of mixed emotions. In fact, Jane felt absolutely marvelous!  
           “Excellent!” said the man enthusiastically. “Are you hungry?”  
           Jane thought a moment. “I guess,” she answered a bit uncertainly. She couldn’t ever remember being hungry before. Was that what she was feeling? “Who are you?” she blurted suddenly.  
           The man smiled again. “I’m your Uncle John!” he announced happily. “Don’t you remember?”  
           “No.”  
           That didn’t upset the man. “I’m not surprised,” he told her. “Not surprised at all. You were barely standing when I saw you at that horrible place. I hate to think how scrambled your mind was… Tell you what—why don’t you get dressed while I fix you a meal. I’ll explain everything while you eat. How does that sound?”  
           Jane nodded.  
           “Terrific!” the man smiled as he stood. “I’ll see you in a while.” He walked off through a doorway to another room, presumably the kitchen, and Jane returned to the bedroom to hunt for clothes.  
           Jane found several pieces of clothing from which to choose in the dresser and the wardrobe closet in the room. She selected a pair of jeans and a sweater to wear. After exploring the bathroom adjoining the room, Jane returned to the parlor and from there made her way to the kitchen where she found Uncle John seated at a table already set and filled with an assortment of foods. It felt strange referring to the man at the table as “Uncle John,” especially as she didn’t recognize him, but Jane had no other name for the person…  
           “I didn’t know which you would like so I fixed up an assortment of things,” said Uncle John. “Take what you wish and we can eat the rest later.”  
           After taking her seat, Jane scooped up some scrambled eggs and took a slice of ham. With fork in hand, she looked up at Uncle John expectantly.  
           He cleared his throat and said, “I shall assume you remember nothing of our earlier meeting, and start from the beginning. When I heard there was someone with emerald green eyes hidden away in one of those places, I just had to take a closer look. And when I saw you, you looked so much like my dear sister Juliana, that I was certain we were related!”  
           “You saw me?” questioned Jane.  
           “Yes, of course, but I don’t suppose you remember that either…”  
           “No.”  
           “Well I immediately went to the administration and demanded that they release you to me, as your only living relative; unfortunately, they refused. It seems my word wasn’t good enough for them. So I insisted they do one of those DNA tests…”  
           “DNA?” questioned Jane.  
           “Yes, gave them one of those saliva samples and everything!” Uncle John frowned at the recollection. “And I wouldn’t leave until they had gotten a sample from you too—hair, if I recall.” He paused and smiled expectantly as if a hair sample should mean something to Jane but it didn’t. When Jane didn’t respond Uncle John continued his story.  
           “Well, the results came out just as I expected—you’re my niece!” he smiled happily. “So I went back to that place and insisted they release you to me! But they wouldn’t and I had to go to court and get a court order to get you out of there! But you’re free now!” he assured Jane. “And you’ll _never_ have to return!”  
           Jane blinked in surprise at Uncle John’s words. _“What’s so wrong with Meadowsgate?”_ she thought. Certainly Jane had had no reason for complaining… On the other hand, maybe the medication _had_ affected her ability to speak… And she was feeling ever so much clear headed without her meds, but otherwise… “Um, where are we?” she asked instead.  
           “We’re near Beachy Head,” Uncle John told her. “Someplace where they’ll never find you.”  
           “Never find me?” questioned Jane. “Who?”  
           “A very good question,” agreed Uncle John. “Who indeed? What do you remember of the accident?”  
           “What accident?” asked Jane.  
           “That’s what I was afraid of,” answered Uncle John. “Your medical report says you were injured in an accident. Do you remember the accident?”  
           “No.”  
           “That’s not good,” Uncle John told her. “They’ve been messing with your mind too!”  
           “Who?”  
           “I don’t know,” replied Uncle John, “but we’ll figure it out. Do you remember anything before that place?”  
           “Meadowsgate?”  
           “Yes, _that place!_ ”  
           “No.”  
           “Are you certain?” he questioned closely.  
           “Yes.”  
           Uncle John sighed disappointedly. “Oh, well,” he told Jane. “Maybe your memories will return later, now that you’re safe.”  
           “Safe?” echoed Jane. “I was always safe,” she protested.  
           “Safe?! You most certainly were not!” counted Uncle John. “Have you never wondered why your parents never came for you, never removed you from that place? It’s because they are _dead!”_ he told Jane.  
           “Dead?”  
           “Yes, dead!” he assured Jane. “I’ve been looking for them ever since I insisted on that DNA test and haven’t found them anywhere!”  
           “That doesn’t mean they are dead,” Jane insisted. Why had she never even thought of parents while at Meadowsgate?  
           Uncle John stood. “Wait here,” he told her. Uncle John left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later. “I wasn’t going to show you this until later,” he said, “but I started looking for your parents right after I saw you and I found this.” Uncle John handed Jane a newspaper folded to show an inside page. “This was in the news the same week you were checked into _that place_.”  
Jane looked at the tiny article indicated by Uncle John.

 ** _Two Die in Crash_**  
                                                                                       the heading read.

                                                    _Officials responded to a fire alarm at 9:45pm last night. They removed_  
_two bodies, a man and a woman, from a burning auto wreck.  The two bodies_  
_have not yet been identified; the auto was reported stolen a week earlier._

          “You think that’s my parents?” Jane questioned looking up from the article.  
           Uncle John looked at her with his green eyes. “I do,” he told her solemnly. What’s more, I think you know something about it.”  
           “Me? I don’t remember anything!”  
           “Exactly,” Uncle John told Jane with satisfaction. “Do you remember the accident?”  
           “No.”  
           “That’s because there was no accident to remember! Somebody stuck you in that place, told you a passel of lies, and fed you a bunch of drugs so your mind would be so confused you’d believe anything! But I speak too much,” Uncle John added straightening. “Time enough for that later. You’re still recovering and should concentrate on that first. Finish your food,” he suggested, “and, would you like to take a walk outside?”  
Jane nodded. Her mind felt all muddled with these ideas. Perhaps the fresh air would help. She finished the food on her plate swiftly and then cleared the table. At Uncle John’s suggestion, Jane grabbed a jacket and then the two went outside.  
           The kitchen door opened to a tiny porch overlooking a spectacular view of the ocean. Steep chalky white cliffs, mere meters away from Uncle John’s cottage, lined the edge of the water.  
           “It’s beautiful!” breathed Jane in appreciation.  
           “Yes,” agreed Uncle John. The two stepped to the edge of the cliff and Jane peered cautiously down at the rocky shore far below. “But a bit dangerous,” Uncle John added, “which is why I request you not go outside without first letting me know.”  
           “Of course,” agreed Jane. The nearness to the cliff’s edge and extreme height was making her feel a bit dizzy.  
           "Have a seat,” Uncle John suggested drawing Jane away from the edge and pointing to the nearest of two chairs on the porch.  
           She sat down and Uncle John took the other. A small vase filled with white, pink and yellow wild flowers graced the tiny table between them. Jane looked around, on either side of the cliff’s edge. She saw nothing but a vast expanse of grassland. In the far distance, Jane could see people walking along the edge of the cliff.  
           “They won’t bother us,” assured Uncle John noting the direction of Jane’s gaze. “The cliffs hold their interest; they don’t even know we’re here.” He leaned back in his chair. “I like it here,” he told Jane. “Quiet, peaceful with lots of fresh air.”  
           Jane leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It was nice; she could hear the surf pounding rhythmatically and overhead the seabirds called…  
           “Are you tired,” Uncle John asked gently.  
           Jane didn’t reply. It seemed like too much work to respond.  
           “Rest, then,” he suggested. “It’ll be good for you…”

**********

          Jane dreamed. It was a scary confusing dream filled with fire, smoke and shadowy faces she couldn’t quite recognize. She woke with a start, chilled to the bone. The terror of the dream still filled her as she tried to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. It took a few moments but Jane eventually realized she was still on the porch with a cool breeze blowing on her face. It was dark out; she could see stars. A thick afghan had been placed over her body and her feet were elevated on a small footstool. There was a welcoming light shining from inside.  
           Jane stood. She folded the afghan and placed it over the back of the chair and stepped to the door. Turning the handle, Jane opened the door and looked in. Uncle John sat at the table reading a book. He looked up at Jane.  
           “Welcome back,” Uncle John greeted her as he slipped a piece of paper in the book he had been reading. “You looked so peaceful sitting there that I hadn’t the heart to move you,” he added while closing the book and setting it down on the table. The table was already set with two bowls and Jane could see a pot of something on the stove giving off tantalizing smells. Suddenly, she felt incredibly hungry. “Did you have a nice rest?”  
           “Um, not really,” Jane confessed. “I had this horrible dream…”  
           “Really?” questioned Uncle John with concern. “Tell me about it.” He pulled out a seat inviting Jane to sit. She did and told Uncle John about the dream as he filled the bowls in front of them with stew.  
           “Those are your memories trying to break through,” Uncle John told Jane with confidence when she had finished. “Welcome them, embrace them and I’m sure you will remember what happened...”  
           After dinner, Uncle John brought out an assortment of things and set them in front of Jane. “I’m a long time bachelor,” he told her. “When I realized I would be host I went out and got a few things I thought you might like—some clothes that looked the right size and things for you to do—I’m afraid my humble home is not equipped with those modern electronic things such as the tube or computers…  
           Jane stared at the assortment of items--books, paper, art supplies, journal, some sort of flute… “Whether you wish to keep a daily journal of your activities is up to you,” continued Uncle John when Jane picked up the slender book with no writing within, “but I think you should keep a record of your dreams—they could provide us with clues of who did those terrible things and why…” Jane nodded. Then she picked up one of the pens and began to write. “What day is it?” she questioned.  
           “Monday, of course,” answered Uncle John. “Monday is the first day of the week and it’s the first day of your new life…”  
           When Jane finished writing about her dream, she looked at the books provided, selecting one at random that didn’t look too long… _The Crucible_ — and began reading. It turned out to be a play about some Witch Trial in the Americas...  
           Eventually Jane tired of reading and Uncle John suggested she get ready for bed. Jane agreed and returned to her room.  
           A while later Uncle John came by and wished Jane “Sweet dreams,” when he shut out the light but Jane’s dreams were anything but “sweet” during the night. There was more smoke and screams of terror! Jane woke bathed in sweat. It took a long time before she could get to sleep again and when she did, the dreams returned… Again Jane woke feeling absolutely terrified. Unable to get back to sleep, Jane huddled in the dark waiting for daylight to return…  
           Uncle John immediately noticed Jane’s sleepless appearance and insisted she relate her dreams of the night. Then he sent gave her some warm milk and honey and insisted Jane return to bed and try to catch up on her sleep. Jane slept, but the nightmares returned with a vengeance. Instead of just smoke, Jane saw fires blazing high and heard voices screaming, pleading for their lives…  
           Jane refused to sleep after that. Bleary-eyed, she stayed resolutely awake and tried to focus her mind on the book she had begun. When it got dark, Uncle John took the book away and insisted Jane try again to sleep. He said old ladies being falsely accused and condemned as witches was not suitable bedtime material. He insisted Jane lay in her bed, close her eyes and pretend to sleep while he sat next to her and read aloud _The Chrysalids_ , which was, he told her, a highly rated science fiction story. It turned out to be a futuristic tale of a community that rigorously eliminated any genetic variances or mutations... Despite her best efforts to the contrary, Jane finally drifted off to sleep while learning about David and his friend Sophie, who had six toes…


	13. Chapter 13

           “All loaded!” announced Tom jubilantly.  
           “Thank you,” murmured Paige Crowley as she put down her hair brush.  
           “I still think it would have been easier had we just stacked the carriage using _Wingardium Leviosa!”_  
           “Spells can go wrong,” Paige reminded gently as she twisted her long black hair into a single rope. “You, never!”  
           “True,” agreed Tom proudly, “but still…” Paige coiled her hair high upon her head and added a gold serpent tiara with glittering emerald eyes to keep it in place.  
           “I’m almost ready,” Tom announced reaching for his dress robes, “How about you?”  
           “Soon,” Paige murmured as she looped an emerald green spider silk scarf around her neck and artfully draped it over her shoulder. They would be very early as she still had to set up her potions and display, but Paige did not want to take out time later to dress for the Ball or risk being seen by early arrivals in anything but her best.  
           “Oh, no!” exclaimed Tom in a disappointed voice.  
           “What?”  
           “Your boutonniere, it’s died!”  
           “What?” exclaimed Paige while immediately moving to Tom’s side. Sure enough, the rosemary sprig wrapped with gold thread that Paige had given Tom had turned brown.  
           “I still love you,” assured Tom, “You still love me, don’t you?” he asked Paige worriedly. Paige had asked him to wear it always as a symbol of their everlasting love for each other.  
           “Of course,” reassured Paige. “It’s just a sprig,” she told him easily. “I’ll get you another…”  
           But it wasn’t just a sprig, it had been enchanted to turn brown under one condition—and that wasn’t love… _Serenity!_ Paige had yet to develop an antidote to it’s effects, but she had come up with a way to determine if it was present in the air… The boutonnieres and corsages now worn as a part of the Ministry uniform were more than pretty flowers. If one faded and died, then its wearer had been exposed to Serenity... While she couldn’t explain the reason, Paige would never let Tom walk about without similar protection.  
           “Let me fix that,” said Paige removing the wilted sprig. She unwound the gold thread from the rosemary and set it aside. Then she broke off a piece of rosemary from her matching wrist corsage and wound the gold thread around it. Paige thought rapidly as she worked. Tom had encountered _Serenity!_ Not just _Serenity,_ but _airbourne_ _Serenity!_ Few people knew about _Serenity_ and how much more effective an _Imperius Curse_ could be when used with _Serenity_. Only one person had saturated a torch with _Serenity_ and burned it releasing _Serenity_ into the air. _Sir!!!_ Tom had encountered Sir! Where??? How??? Why???  
           Thinking back, the rosemary boutonniere had looked fine that morning when Tom took off for some last minute shopping in Diagon Alley. Had she seen it upon his return? No. Tom had taken off his coat when he offered to help her finish packing her potion jars…  
           Potions! An encounter with _Serenity_ implied use of the _Imperius Curse!_ Had Sir ordered Tom to do something to her potions??? Why? Well, that didn’t matter as much at the moment… Paige hastily pinned the new boutonniere on Tom’s lapel, smiled and stepped outside to double check on the potions Tom had just loaded onto the carriage. To her intense relief, the seals all seemed intact. So what had Sir done with Tom? Question him? Most certainly. Why? Tom was no Ministry employee; he knew nothing of importance, not even that Paige was an auror. That was Paige’s way of keeping Tom safe. Nor had Tom noticed Paige had stopped reading the _Prophet_ letting Tom point out the articles he thought most important… There had to be more… Sir had to have ordered Tom to do something… Paige would have to double-check all the things Tom had brought back to see if he had brought back something extra…  
           “What’s wrong?” questioned Tom coming out of the flat, his hands on a towel wiping them dry as he moved.  
           _Towel!_ Paige suddenly remembered Wizard Ercwlff, one of Sir’s alternate identities, had made a two part potion—one part being an ointment on the outside of the Sorbi/Sabois bottles and absorbed through the flesh… Had something of that nature been done to Paige’s bottles? Paige pulled our her wand and whispered a “reveal” spell she had developed when searching for contaminated bottles within Wizard Ercwlff’s store… She had never found any, but to her dismay, a pale yellow sheen suddenly appeared on all her bottles! Tom had placed something on the outside of her bottles! Whatever it was would surely interact with disastrous results with the contents within!  
           “Eww!” exclaimed Tom looking into the box. “What’s that?”  
           “Air pollution!” said Paige disdainfully. “Muggles are such filty creatures!” Tom clearly did not know what he had done and now was not the time to inform him otherwise. Did she have time to clean the bottles of all contaminants? She’d have to make the time. If people got ill after using her potions, Paige’s license would be revoked and her reputation as a Potions Mixer totally ruined!  
           “Help me get these boxes inside,” instructed Paige. “I’ve got to clean everything…”

**********

          They made it to the Pilkington Ball with minutes to spare. Paige sauntered in as if arriving a minute before the guests were expected to arrive had been her intention all along. With Tom’s help, Paige set up her table while Pilkington greeted the first arrivals. Without bothering to check with Pilkington first, Paige selected a location near the entrance to place her mahogany table where her decorative potion bottles could not help but catch the eyes of the people entering. Her strategy worked and soon she numerous curious witches and wizards examining her wares making small purchases most likely to show support.  
           Gradually the room filled with witches and wizards. Wizard Lucius Malfoy’s arrival was given special recognition, as he was this year’s guest of honor having stopped some fight the previous year. Pilkington gave a welcoming speech and introduced both Wizard Malfoy and Paige. Then the music started. Several couples stepped out onto the floor to dance. Paige settled herself gracefully on the settee she had brought along and suggested Tom mingle with the other guests and “make connections.” There were plenty connections to make. Paige recognized the Minister of Magic and numerous Ministry employees in attendance along with several wizards she now knew to be aurors. In addition, she saw Harry Potter, his wife, the Weasley clan and recognized several wizards once members of the famous Dumbledore’s Army. Besides the really famous ones, Paige saw a large number of small merchants and ordinary wizards within the crowd. She idly wondered how they managed to afford tickets to such a posh affair. No doubt some were recipients of complimentary tickets passed out by Pilkington in acknowledgement of services rendered to make the ball happen but surely not all…  
           Taking photos everywhere was Rita Skeeter looking for that one shot to sell the newspaper. Paige made sure she looked her best whenever Rita came near and was pleased to note several photos had been taken of her and her potions.  
           Tom came around after about thirty minutes balancing a plate of h’ordorves, and a glass of elfin wine in one hand for her. His eyes sparkled brightly having already drunk deeply of the glass of elfin wine he held in his other hand and asked how Paige was doing.  
           “Fine,” she told him. Several purchases had already been made and she was certain of more.  
           “That Thomas is sure a blowhard!” commented Tom critically.  
           “He’s a Gryffindor,” reminded Paige, “of course he is.”  
           “Yeah, but this time I think he’s gone too far!”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yeah, he’s standing over there shaking the hand of every person entering the room!”  
           “Really?” That did seem a bit odd. It was Pilkington’s ball not Thomas’. Paige lifted her head in the direction and saw tall figure of Thomas on the other side of the entrance shaking a hand of one of the guests…  
           “Not only that, but he’s telling everyone to check out your table!” Tom added with annoyance.  
           “That’s kind of him,” murmured Paige soothingly. Tom could get worked up so easily over nothing. “No doubt he thinks he’s doing me a favor…”  
           “Perhaps,” growled Tom, “but I wouldn’t ever want to do anything Thomas recommended after having to shake one of his greasy hands!”  
           “Greasy!” questioned Paige softly suddenly feeling alarmed. Thomas had held her hands before and his hands had _not_ been greasy! She looked over again at Thomas, more specifically, his lapel—a wilted carnation! _Serenity!_  
           “Watch my things,” she told Tom and slipped from behind her table. Paige moved quickly over to Thomas. Yes, the carnation was definitely dead. But to what end? Did Thomas know about the plans to capture Sir? Had he told Sir? Had Thomas, like Tom, been ordered to do something? What?  
           “Welcome to Wizard Pilkington’s Ball,” said Thomas noting her presence. “I’m glad you could support such a worthwhile event. Make sure you check out the potions on Miss Crowley’s table,” he added sticking out his hand. “She is a gifted potions mixer deserving of your attention…”  
           “I _am_ Miss Crowley!” Paige responded.  
           “Yes, of course,” replied Thomas calmly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t try one of her potions. You never know what might come in useful…” The hand remained planted firmly in front of Paige waiting for her to shake it. It was if Thomas didn’t recognized Paige for who she was! Unswerving purpose to the exclusion of all else! This had to be to be the effects of an _Imperius Curse!_ Whatever Thomas was doing was bound to be at the direction of Sir! It could not be good. Thomas had to be stopped immediately! But Paige couldn’t make an open accusation. Perhaps a public accusation, humiliation and eventual dismissal of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement was _exactly_ what Sir intended. Paige would not be a willing accomplice to such plans. Besides, Paige would have to explain how she knew, perhaps be forced to reveal she was an auror and the secret of the boutonnieres… The resulting publicity would tell Sir much making him even more difficult to capture…  
           Thinking rapidly Paige returned to her table and said to Tom, “It’s rather insulting to think I would need Thomas’ assistance in selling potions. You could be right; it might even discourage potential clients from checking out my wares,” she told him. “I asked Thomas to stop, but he instead suggested I should buy my _own_ potions!”  
           “How _dare_ he say that to you!” bristled Tom and immediately stormed across the way to Thomas. Tom was very protective and known for his aggressive belligerent ways. No one would think twice should Tom confront Thomas on her behalf.  
           Tom might slow or stop Thomas but not for long. It all depended on what Sir had ordered Thomas to do and how determined Thomas was in doing it. And there was still whatever Thomas had put on everyone’s hands to contend with. Paige needed help! Pilkington was the obvious choice. Paige had no idea whether he remembered Sir and Holly or knew the purpose of the blue forget-me-not boutonniere she had pinned on his lapel, but Pilkington was quick and it was in his best interest to protect the health and reputations of those who attended his Ball. Unfortunately, Pilkington was nowhere in sight. But in looking for Pilkington, Paige saw the tall head of Harry Potter sitting at one of the tables near the wall. Potter was the only person Paige was certain knew of Sir and _Serenity._ Potter also knew she was an auror… Paige grabbed the nearest potion bottle from her table and moved swiftly towards him.

**********

          Harry Potter sat at the table and watched the witches and wizards stream by in their fancy outfits. A plate of h’ordorves in front of him and a mug of butterbeer was proof he had already made the rounds and seen the silent auction items. The only thing left was to sit and wait until he could politely make his excuses and leave. When Wizard Pilkington had placed that photo of the previous year’s ball in front of him, Harry could imagine no reason that would have induced him to attend Pilkington’s charity ball. Harry had purchased the tickets only as a plausible explanation for a visit with Pilkington. Now, Harry realized he had come to last year’s ball only to further protect Holly from the elusive Sir. There was no Holly to protect this year and Harry would have gladly tossed the tickets as soon as he got home except Ginny found out about them. She insisted the tickets be used not tossed so they had come again to the ball. Harry hated balls; he only knew one formal dance step and had no intention of ever attempting to dance that particular step again. The music blared loudly; any minute Ginny would insist he get up and try something, which made the situation only worse.  
           “How dare you insult my girl!”  
           Harry recognized Tom Richard’s loud voice during a lull in the music. Like everyone else, Harry looked at the source. He was surprised to note the recipient of Tom’s anger was Dean Thomas. Dean didn’t seem upset at all, which Harry found rather impressive as Richard’s prickly nature could set anyone on edge.  
           “Excuse me,” murmured Harry to Ginny, “I think I’ll see if I’m needed.” He slid out of his chair and headed towards the disturbance before Ginny could object. Dean wouldn’t need any help against Richards, but it was a good excuse to get away from Ginny.  
           As Harry walked, Paige Crowley stepped directly in front of him blocking his way. “I have the potion you requested,” she told him calmly.  
           Harry looked at Crowley blankly. He had requested no potion—hadn’t even visited her table.  
           Placing a small potion bottle under his nose Crowley moved even closer and in a whisper added, “Wizard Thomas is under an _Imperius Curse!”_  
           Harry’s eyes widened with surprise. “You sure?” he whispered back. As head of Magical law Enforcement, Dean was one of the most magically secure wizards about.  
           “Yes,” Paige whispered. _“Serenity!”_ she added as it that explained everything.  
           And it did! Harry looked over Crowley’s shoulder at Dean finding the wilted carnation on his lapel, confirmation that he had been in the presence of Serenity. Dean had hinted that _Serenity_ could break all the known magical rules and it apparently could! That’s why Dean had kept his temper in the face of Richardson’s aggression—Dean was too busy carrying out his _Imperius Curse_ orders!  
           “Thanks,” said Harry in a louder voice taking the potion bottle in Crowley’s hand. “If you’ll excuse me…” Harry stepped around Crowley and hurried towards Dean. What could he do? Dean had to be stopped! Whatever he had been ordered to do had to be part of a plot of some sort. But if it became publicly known that Dean had been placed under the effects of an Imperius Curse he would be forced to resign from his job. Perhaps that was what Sir wanted all along. Harry uncorked the potion bottle as he moved. “What’s going on?” he asked loudly as he neared.  
           Dean turned towards Harry, oblivious of Richard’s anger. “Welcome to Wizard Pilkington’s Ball,” said Dean pleasantly while sticking out his hand. “I’m glad you could support such a worthwhile event. Make sure you check out the potions on Miss Crowley’s table,” he added. “She is a gifted potions mixer deserving of your attention…” The hand waved expectantly under Harry’s nose waiting to be shaken.  
           Harry splashed the potion onto the offered hand. “Oops!” he said aloud. “Sorry about that. Let me help you clean that off.” Harry grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him from the wall.  
           “No!” Dean argued. “I must stay and greet the guests.”  
           Wizard Pilkington materialized at Harry’s side.  
           Dean turned towards Wizard Pilkington as Harry pulled. “Welcome to Wizard Pilkington’s Ball,” Dean said pleasantly trying to offer his potion covered hand to Wizard Pilkington to shake. “I’m glad you could support such a worthwhile event. Make sure you check out the potions on Miss Crowley’s table,” he added. “She is a gifted potions mixer deserving of your attention…”  
           _“Imperius Curse!”_ breathed Harry while hanging onto the struggling Dean. “Have to get him out of here, _now!”_ Harry wished he could Apparate Dean to the mansion, but it wasn’t possible to Apparate in or out of Pilkington’s ballrooms. It was one of the security features at Pilkington Balls…  
           Wizard Pilkington immediately drew his wand. _“Tarantallegra!”_ he whispered while pointing his wand at Dean. Dean’s feet instantly went every which way making it impossible for him to resist Harry’s pull. “The cloak room!” he added in a whisper. “It’s nearest.” Harry nodded and started maneuvering Dean in the direction of the cloakroom.  
           “What on earth did you spill on him?” added Wizard Pilkington loudly. Harry looked down at the hand offered to Wizard Pilkington, the hand on which he had spilled the potion—it seemed to have sprouted a thick green fuzz that kept growing as he watched.  
           “Get Healer Winonan,” instructed Wizard Pilkington to Richards who had stood by basically ignored ever since Harry had spilled the potion. “Tell him to meet us in the cloakroom. Pilkington added. “Go!” Richards nodded and left in the opposite direction.  
           Wizard Pilkington helped Harry get Dean into the cloakroom all the while scolding Harry for his clumsiness. Pilkington’s voice was loud enough to drown out Dean’s constant protestation and insistence he remain to greet people…  
           _“Stupify!”_ shouted Harry as soon as the cloakroom door had closed. Dean slammed against the cloakroom wall, slumped onto the floor and remained still. Hopefully, that would break the _Imperius Curse_ control.  
           A thunderous “boom!” sounded from outside. “What was that?” questioned Wizard Pilkington.  
           “I don’t know,” answered Harry.  
           “I’d better check it out,” said Wizard Pilkington drawing his wand. “Think you can manage Wizard Thomas on your own?”  
           Harry looked down at Dean’s unmoving body, the green fuzz spreading rapidly up his arm… What had Crowley given him? “I’ll be fine,” Harry assured the solicitor. So Wizard Pilkington stepped quickly outside closing the door behind him.

**********

          Daniel Pilkington stared in disbelief at the seven hooded figures standing in the middle of the ballroom. They were all masked reminding Daniel vaguely of the outfits the Death Eaters reportedly wore during the Days of Lord Voldemort. On the floor were seven wands. Facing the seven in a semi circle with wands extended were the other guests at his ball. Daniel easily recognized the grim faces Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Weasleys and several aurors in their midst. A huge blast mark marked the wall beyond the semi circle. Pocketing his own wand, Daniel took a deep breath and stepped forward. “My deepest apologies,” he said clearly in a normal sounding voice as he walked into the space between the seven hooded figures and the guests. There was no need to speak loudly; the hall was already deathly silent.  
           “I must have neglected to inform you that this was not a costume ball. I deeply regret this omission,” stated Daniel firmly while looking at the seven. An apology could do much to diffuse a tense situation. Daniel casually stretched out his hand. _“Accio_ wands,” he said firmly pointing to the fallen wands. They all flew up towards his hand and Daniel smoothly reached out with his other hand to help collect and hold them all. That would reassure his guests that the situation was safely in control. Out of the corner of his eye Daniel noted the wands of his guests all dropped fractionally into a more relaxed position. “If you will follow me to the wardrobe closet,” Daniel added smoothly. “Perhaps I can find you something more suitable to wear…” He turned and started walking resolutely towards a door in the wall. As he had hoped, the seven meekly followed behind. Of course, holding their wands was a great incentive.  
           Daniel opened the door. It did _not_ lead to the wardrobe closet—Wizard Thomas and Harry Potter were in there. This door led to a dingy stairwell, one of the Muggle exits to the floor he had rented for the evening and outside the ballroom proper—one could Apparate from here. Daniel stood aside letting the seven file in first and then followed into the stairwell closing the door behind him. They silently turned towards Daniel as the door closed.  
           “How dare you _crash_ my charity ball!” hissed Daniel furiously at the masked group. _“Charity!_ Do you know how _stingy_ wizards are and how difficult it is to get them to open up their purses for any reason no matter how good it is?” Daniel demanded. “And then you have to ruin things with your childish antics! Don’t you realize every knute raised at this ball goes to finance legal activities benefitting those unable or too stupid to get legal services otherwise—something you might wish to take advantage of someday if you haven’t managed to irrevocably mess things up!”  
           “We’re not stupid!” protested one of the taller hooded figures. A young voice—a Hogwarts student?  
           “I’d say launching a frontal attack on a room full of experienced wizards, aurors and Gryffindors qualifies you for an _insanity_ plea at the very least!” retorted Daniel bluntly. “You are fortunate Wizard Thomas is currently, ah, indisposed, or he would have carted you all away for disturbing the peace!” Daniel added scornfully. _“That’s right! Wizard Thomas was out—could this have been part of a larger plan?”_ Daniel quickly discarded the idea. There was no way anyone could have predicted Harry Potter would pull Wizard Thomas out when he had.  
           “No, don’t take off that mask,” Daniel ordered suddenly when he noticed one of the hands raising up. The hand froze in place. “I don’t want to know who you are—now, or ever!” Daniel added explaining. “It might affect my decision to take one of you on as a client at a later time. Take your wands,” Daniel continued holding out the wands, “and here are some tickets to my ball,” he added pulling some unsold tickets out of his pocket and distributing them among the group. “Now, if you want to enjoy an evening of good food and music, take those hoods and masks off, find some decent clothing and come in through the front door like proper _gentlemen!_ Otherwise, go back to _Hogwarts_ before anyone discovers you are gone!” The whole group stiffened at the mention of the word Hogwarts confirming Daniel’s suspicion that they were all students… “Good day!” finished Daniel and turned to leave when, _“Terika!”_ Daniel wheeled about. “What did you do to Terika!?” He demanded.  
           “What?” questioned a different student with a deep sounding voice.  
           “Terika, my wife,” Daniel clarified. “She was taking tickets. She would have never let you in! What did you do to her?”  
           “Wouldn’t you like to know!” said a smaller student with a smirky kind of voice.  
           _“Expelliarmus!”_ hissed Daniel. The recently returned wand flew out of the student’s hand and clattered to the floor. At the same time Daniel grabbed the student’s collar with his free hand, pulled the student up close and pointed his wand at the mask. _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ Daniel said silently and the mask lifted revealing blond hair, blue eyes and a thin face with arrogant features. “Yes … I … would,” replied Daniel staring straight into Scorpius’ eyes and redirecting his wand so close to Scorpius’ throat it nearly touched! He’d seen Scorpius Malfoy at enough Quidditch matches to recognize him easily. “If anything happened to her I shall haul you over to Azkaban and personally throw away the key!”  
           “Lighten up!” said a new voice. Same size as Scorpius, brown eyes; it was probably Anthony Richards; Leila reported that he and Scorpius were rarely apart… “We didn’t do anything to her, didn’t have to—just walked on past and she didn’t give us a second’s glance…”  
           “No,” argued a fourth voice. “I’m sure she winked when she saw me… Perhaps you should get some new … help.” The voice had a confident swagger to it.  
           Daniel ignored the suggestive insinuations and chose instead to believe Anthony. If he was wrong, well, he could easily recognize their wands again if necessary. He still needed to find Terika to make sure. Daniel released Scorpio and lowered his wand. “Why don’t you wait here while I check it out,” he told the group knowing full well they would leave at the first opportunity under such conditions. “Then we can discuss the cost of damages…” More incentive to leave… It was best the group left before someone decided their actions were more than just a foolish prank in bad taste. Then Daniel opened the door leading to the ballroom and stepped out.  
           Did Lucius Malfoy know what his grandson had been up to? Did he approve? What about Anthony? Had his big brother recognized him? It should have been in both Scorpius and Anthony’s interests that this ball be a success—why had they crashed it?  
           Daniel closed the door firmly behind him, locking it as well insuring that the students could not reenter by that method. Once outside, Daniel looked around at the waiting crowd of guests. He straightened his robes and put on a pleasant smile. “They’ve decided to look for more appropriate clothing,” Daniel told the group. “Anyone up for some music?” Taking their cue from his suggestion, the music started up and the atmosphere seemed to lighten immediately. Daniel moved quickly towards the entry before anyone could stop him to engage in conversation.  
           Sitting at the check-in table was his wife Terika. Just sitting. Daniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey,” he said when he drew close. Terika didn’t move. Daniel placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey!” he repeated.  
           “Wh-what?” she asked suddenly looking up at him.  
           “Are you OK?” Daniel asked worriedly.  
           “Yes, of course, fine,” she told him. “Why do you ask?”  
           “I’ll tell you later,” said Daniel easily while giving Terika a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Did seven school-aged wizards happen come through?”  
           “What? Of course not!” Terika denied.  
           “What about seven hooded and masked wizards?”  
           “Definitely not!” assured Terika. “Why?”  
           “No reason in particular,” answered Daniel vaguely. “Just something I’m working on.” It seemed the students were telling the truth. Something had been done to Terika _before_ the students had arrived. That had to be Sir. Why? “Did Wizard Thomas check in?” Daniel asked on a sudden hunch.  
           Terika frowned. “No,” she told him. “That’s odd. You’d think he’s have come by now…” That explained things. Terika knew Wizard Thomas and would have immediately noticed any odd behavior. Apparently Sir had made sure she didn’t... Did that mean Sir was somewhere among the guests? The thought was most disquieting. Had they said or done anything that revealed knowledge about Sir? What were Sir’s plans? What would he do if his plans did not go as intended? Daniel gave an inward shutter. Suddenly he was certain the evening was not over, and not in a good way.

**********

          Dean Thomas, Head of Magical Law Enforcement, groaned and tried to stand. His head hurt, shoulders, back, what had happened?  
           “How do you feel?” came the concerned voice of Harry Potter and Dean felt a pair of strong hands help him up.  
           “Lousy,” acknowledged Dean. “What happened?” He opened his eyes and saw an assortment of robes and cloaks in front of his face.  
           “I kind of knocked you out,” admitted Harry as he brushed off Dean’s shoulders  
           “You did what!? Why?”  
           “Well, you were standing there shaking hands and telling people to check out Crowley’s table of potions,” explained Harry.  
           “I did what?” questioned Dean suddenly alarmed. He didn’t remember any of that! “I wouldn’t do that!”  
           “Exactly,” agreed Harry, “which was why I figured something more sinister was afoot… like an _Imperius Curse!”_  
           “No!” denied Dean though he was certain Harry spoke the truth. He started to draw out his wand when stopped. “What?” he asked suddenly staring at that green stuff growing out of his hand and wrist.  
           “That would be, ah,” Harry pulled out a small lime green potion bottle and read off the label, _“Merrygold.”_  
           _“Merrygold?_ What’s that?” Dean put his left hand out and cautiously touched the green fluff. It felt soft, wet and spongy.  
           “It says it’s to, “sooth overindulgence,” continued Harry while reading the label. He looked up at Dean. “I think she means it’s for indigestion,” he said in a serious tone.  
           “Right,” said Dean dubiously. “What’s it doing on me?”  
           “I spilled the potion on your hand to give me an excuse to get you to someplace private to remove the curse,” acknowledged Harry seriously. “Hopefully Rita was otherwise occupied at the time and she missed us…”  
           “Rita!”  
           “Yeah, Rita. Remember that night at the hospital when you said I owed you one?  
           “Two!” corrected Dean automatically.  
           “Well, I figure it’s down to one now,” replied Harry dryly. “Any guesses as to why someone would risk placing an _Imperius Curse_ on you just to make you shake hands?”  
           “No.”  
           “Me neither, but negative publicity comes to mind…”  
           “Publicity?” questioned Dean. “Where are we anyway?” That could make a big difference in whose hands he was shaking and why.  
           “Pilkington’s Ball,” came the response.  
           “Pilkington’s Ball!” exclaimed Dean, “But that can’t be! That’s—” Dean stopped. He’d lost nearly a whole day! Where had he been? What had he been doing?!!!  
           A soft knock sounded on the closet door. “It’s me,” came the voice of Paige Crowley.  
           Harry stepped forward and opened the door. Paige slipped through. She looked particularly stunning with her hair coiled up high and the emerald green scarf around her white neck draping down her shoulders. Harry closed the door behind her. “What’s going on outside?” Harry asked worriedly.  
           “Pilkington is taking care of things,” replied Paige coolly. “I need your wand hand,” she added bluntly while directing her attention to Dean; her black eyes seemed to pierce through Dean as she spoke.  
           “What? Why?”  
           “To get a sample from whatever is on your hand,” replied Paige. “You surely don’t think you were shaking all those hands for pure exercise…”  
           “She knows?” questioned Dean as he lifted his hand.  
           “She alerted me,” Harry admitted.  
           Paige stared at the green fuzzy growth that covered Dean’s hand. “That’s no use,” she said critically. “It’s contaminated. Perhaps there’s something I can use from your pocket…”  
           “I would say it’s a rather unexpected _side_ effect, wouldn’t you?” commented Dean as he twisted his body around to use his other hand to reach into his pocket. He knew how Paige prided herself on making potions without side effects…  
           “It was a _potion_ not a _lotion!_ ” retorted Paige acidly. “That’s what happens when you use one of my potions in a way not intended…  
           “How do I get it off?” questioned Dean as the fingers of his left hand touched something smooth and glassy in his pocket.  
           “Soap and water works well,” Paige answered promptly. “And you owe me a sickle for that bottle,” she added addressing Harry.  
           “A sickle!” protested Harry. “But I didn’t even request it!”  
           “Bill the Ministry, for your expenses,” she told him. “My potions are not charity gifts. The ledgers must balance should someone investigate.”  
           “This what you’re looking for?” questioned Dean bringing out what seemed to be an unfamiliar small flat jar with no lid and stuff still in it.  
           “That looks familiar,” commented Harry aloud as the three looked at the jar, lime green in colour matching the potion bottle Harry had brought out earlier.  
           Paige practically snatched the jar from Dean’s hands. She started to put her little finger in the jar but stopped and sniffed the contents suspiciously instead. “This is not mine!” she concluded firmly. “The jar looks like mine,” she added, “it could be mine,” she admitted, “but the contents are not; I don’t know what’s in it!”  
           “It looks like someone is attempting to frame you two,” commented Harry quietly.  
           “Yes, but whom?” questioned Dean worriedly. “I’ve plenty of enemies, but Umbridge is the only one with cause to hate Miss Crowley and she’s in Azkaban. I can’t imagine any of her friends going to this length on her behalf…” A strange look passed between Harry and Paige. Dean wondered what it meant.  
           Aloud Harry said, “We can worry about that later—after we find out and undo whatever your handshake did…” Harry drew out his wand as he spoke. “Shall we?” he added placing his free hand on the doorknob.  
           “I suppose,” replied Dean while ignoring the green fuzz and drawing his own wand. He intended to pursue that strange look—it was almost as if Harry and Paige knew something he didn’t and that shouldn’t be. Also, it was strange how Harry seemed to trust Paige without question. She was a Slytherin, after all, and under normal circumstances, that shouldn’t inspire such trust. Of course, Dean knew Paige was also an auror, which made her a bit more trustworthy, but Harry shouldn’t—such things were not made common knowledge… But all that would have to wait. Harry was right; the handshake business had to be taken care of first.  
           Paige slid the mysterious jar into a small bag that hung at her waist and drew her wand. “Better sooner than not,” she added.  
Harry opened the door and the three stepped out.

 


	14. Chapter 14

          Paige Brenna Crowley stared suspiciously at the witches and wizards in the main room; many were dancing on the ballroom floor as if they hadn’t a care in the world. The musicians played their instruments energetically. Everything seemed normal.  
           “Perhaps we’re making too much of things,” said Thomas hopefully while pocketing his wand.  
           Potter did not pocket his wand. “I doubt it,” replied he grimly, an assessment Paige fully agreed with.  
           She had no words to describe the contents of that jar, but the scent was, well, extremely dark somehow, almost nauseating! How _dare_ Sir involve her in his plans! If he wanted to disgrace the Ministry, that was his business, but to include her, that was _unforgivable!_  
           As she raged inwardly, Paige remembered the court transcripts she had read in class from the days of the Dark Lord—she had always believed the excuses and pleas for clemency made by the defendants were clever lies designed to prey on the sympathies of a stupid, gullible judge and jury. Now it occurred to her that some of the defendants might have actually spoken the truth; they really _were_ sucked into situations they did not intend and could not control! If she ever got her hands on Sir, well, she had sworn to combat and destroy dark wizards to the best of her ability and, with regards to Sir, Paige would have no difficulty keeping that word…  
           “So what do we do?” questioned Thomas.  
           “Find the ones you shook hands with,” suggested Potter. “Maybe we can isolate them and figure out what you did…”  
           “Great idea except I don’t know who I shook hands with,” confessed Thomas. “Do you?”  
           “No,” admitted Potter, “but perhaps we can find someone who does…”  
           “Perhaps we can circle around and spot something…” suggested Thomas.  
           “Not alone,” stated Potter emphatically.  
           “Well, how about we take a trip to the loo,” conceded Thomas. “I confess it’s rather awkward trying to wield a wand with this green stuff growing on my hand…”  
           Paige rolled her eyes, _“Terego!”_ she said while pointing her wand at Thomas’ hand. The fuzz immediately vanished; a patch of green coloured skin where the potion had originally landed remained. “Better?” she asked acidly.  
           “Yeah,” said Thomas while examining the back of his hand. “But, ah, the colour?”  
           “That will fade with time,” Paige assured him coolly. Some people were so vain… She did _not_ like her potions being put to secondary uses and wanted any transgression to be memorable.  
           As she spoke, Healer Winonan, carrying a plain black Muggle-style doctor’s bag, walked up with Tom. Paige moved forward and wrapped her arm welcomingly around Tom’s. Instead of pulling her closer, he stiffened strangely at her touch. “I was told you had some sort of medical emergency,” Winonan said gruffly, “but aside from a bit of green, everything looks fine…” He turned to leave.  
           “No, stay, please,” said Potter. “We’ve another problem that’s come up.”  
           “Oh?” Winonan turned his attention to Potter.  
           “Yes, Dean here has gotten a tip that some of, give him the jar,” he suddenly instructed Paige. Paige reached into her bag and removed the offending jar while carefully not touching its contents. “…this stuff has gotten on the hands of the guests,” explained Potter while Paige held the jar out to Winonan. “Any idea what it is?”  
           Winonan sniffed the ointment suspiciously, his face darkened. “What have you been up to!” he demanded of Paige.  
           “Watch what you say to my girl!” cut in Tom protectively. He stepped forward planting his face close to Winonan’s.  
           “It’s not my doing!” Paige denied while pulling Tom away from Winonan preventing further possible confrontation. “What is it?” she asked changing the subject before someone thought to ask how something she hadn’t made had gotten into a jar bearing the distinctive glass colouring she had commissioned especially for her products containers. That was probably Tom’s doing at Sir’s direction but the information was nothing she wanted outsiders to know.  
           “It’s _Lunacy_ ,” replied Winonan tersely.  
           _“What’s Lunacy???”_ thought Paige in frustration. _“I’ve never heard of it!”_  
           _“Lunacy?”_ questioned Thomas. “What’s that?”  
           “Highly dangerous and illegal. Causes paranoia,” continued Winonan.  
           _“Illegal? Paranoia?”_ questioned Paige mentally. Why didn’t she know about Lunacy? She was an auror! She should have known! She should have been able to recognize it and its effects the moment she came across it!!! _“Are there other illegal potions out there about which I know nothing?”_  
           “You say some of the guests have gotten some?” Winonan added worriedly.  
           “Yes,” said Thomas, “but we don’t know who…”  
           “Tom knows,” said Paige remembering how Tom had criticized Thomas for the handshakes in the first place. “At least some…” Paige’s voice died away.  
           Tom abruptly pulled himself from her grip and stepped back. “I don’t know anything!” he said defensively while drawing out his wand. “Why did you mention me? I didn’t do anything! Keep away!” Tom added and rushed off vanishing within the crowd of dancers.  
           “I believe Tom has gotten a dose,” Paige said calmly while hiding the sudden fear she felt for Tom. A paranoid Tom was very dangerous! “What do we do?”  
           “Normally I would say confine them someplace safe until the effects wear off but here…” Winonan looked around at the group, a room filled with high dignitaries and officials. “Confine whom?”  
           All the sudden the lights went out! Someone screamed and the whole room erupted in spells!  
           “Get out your breather!” Paige shouted in the direction where she had last seen Winonan while she pulled out her wand. Then she made her way swiftly to her display table. _“Lumos!”_ said Paige when she reached her table.  Paige ignored the spells flying about her while she dug through her potions. She pulled out one named, _“Dreamless.”_ It was a potion for people who wanted to sleep, not dream… Paige had developed the potion for the Potions contest a few years earlier. That was when she had developed _Serenity_ as well. _Serenity_ had won first prize and should have been featured in the next Borage Potions book but when Auntie D had decided _Serenity_ was too valuable and dangerous a recipe to share with the wizard community at large, she had gone to Borage Publications, quietly confiscated the _Serenity_ recipe and substituted Paige’s _Dreamless_ recipe instead. _Dreamless_ was now in the Borage Potions book under the name of _Serenity_.  
           Paige uncorked the potion bottle and poured the contents onto the mahogany table. Headless of the screams and spells flying about her she unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and retied it tightly over her mouth and nose.  
           The day after her meeting with Potter, Paige had gone to a master weaver and commissioned some spidersilk fabric with a weave tight enough to “filter out Muggle pollution.” At least that was what Paige had told the master weaver. In actuality, she wanted some breathing protection should Sir unleash Serenity in the air again. Of course, that assumed Paige would have enough advance notice to recognize the need for breathing protection… But Paige decided advance notice would do her no good if she couldn’t do something with the information…  
           With her scarf securely in place Paige pointed her wand at the table and shouted, _“Incendo!”_ The wood of the table started to smolder and burn. The hot embers met the potion on the table and began to sizzle. The vapor curled up vanishing into the surrounding darkness. If Serenity could work while airbourne then surely _Dreamless_ would too—she hoped… When the contents of the first bottle had totally dissipated Paige grabbed another _Dreamless_ bottle and poured it on the table. It hissed and sizzled when it encountered the embers. Paige kept the fire going while adding bottle after bottle of Dreamless onto the table. Flashes of light, sounds of spells and screams surrounded Paige while _Dreamless_ fumes continued to dissipate into the air.

**********

          “I think you can stop now.”  
           Paige Crowley looked up into the shadowy figure of Healer Winonan. Next to him stood two taller shapes, one with a curiously round head. She lifted her wand and the fire stopped leaving them in total darkness. The accompanying silence seemed almost deafening.  
           “Have you any idea what you’ve done?” demanded the angry voice of Dean Thomas as Paige straightened. He was the smaller of the two indistinguishable shapes. His voice sounded muffled and weird from beneath the breather he still wore. “You’ve knocked out darned near the whole Ministry!” he added answering his own question.  
           “Better that than loss of life due to Lunacy,” replied Paige coolly. But silently she said to herself, _“I did, didn’t I! Not even the Dark Lord can claim to have done that!”_  
           _“Lumos!”_ said Winonan while holding his wand up high.  
          The light enabled Paige to see Winonan and Thomas more clearly. She could now recognize the taller third person as Harry Potter. Was that a Bubble Head Charm? _“Ingenious!”_ Paige thought approvingly. _“However did he know a spell like that?”_ The rest of the ballroom was obscured by green-gray smoke but she could see all sorts of shadowy forms lying on the floor like the victims of a battle… “I think we’d best look for injuries and do what we can before they wake. How long will they be asleep?” Winonan asked looking expectantly at Paige.  
           Paige stared back. How much had each person breathed? Was the potency affected by the conversion of _Dreamless_ from potion to vapor? If so, which way? She had no idea! The feeling was disconcerting. “Long enough,” Paige answered coolly. “Unless you dawdle… More time if you don’t clear the smoke from the rooms. Those on the outside will wake sooner,” she added realizing the _Dreamless_ vapors would have reached them last and they would have breathed in the least amount.  
           “Then we shall start there,” decided Winonan. “You two start separating out the people so I can tend them. Look for obvious injuries while you’re at it,” he directed Thomas and Potter, “and you—,”  
           “Does whatever you used have the same side effect as the _Merrygold?”_ cut in Thomas suddenly.  
           “Yes.”  
           “Then I think you’d best start by removing what you can of the furry stuff,” directed Thomas to Paige. He lifted his left hand, the one Potter _hadn’t_ spilled potion on. It was now covered in fast growing fuzz. Paige could tell that Thomas’ face, the area not covered by the breather, was also sprouting fuzz as was Winonan’s. Potter’s head, protected by the Bubble charm, looked fine, but his hands were another matter… Paige looked down at her own hand and saw it turning fuzzy as well…  
           “What do we tell everyone?” Thomas questioned while rotating his left hand in front of him. “Another Security check?”  
           _“Security check???”_ thought Paige. _“Was that Hospital Security Check a cover for something else? What???”_  
           “I doubt anyone would believe that,” replied Winonan bluntly. “How about the truth?”  
           “That someone put _Lunacy_ in one of Miss Crowley’s jars and got the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to give it to the guests through a handshake?” questioned Thomas tentatively.  
           “I said the _truth_ ,” said Winonan angrily. “You’re obviously not affected by the _Lunacy_. Try again.”  
           That’s right! Thomas hadn’t worn gloves! With all that handshaking, he should have been more paranoid than anyone else! Thomas looked at Paige. There were no words spoken, but Paige could hear him think: _“ Another side effect?”_  
           Perhaps, but it also could have been something Sir had done.  How would she know? Was it because of the side effect or the original potion or something else? She would have to get a sample of _Lunacy_ and do some testing…  “The truth is we don’t know yet,” Paige lied smoothly. Thomas would not wish to publicly admit he had been affected by an _Imperius Curse_ ; Potter would protect his friend if possible and her reputation as a Potions Mixer could be destroyed if it became known one of her jars was used to carry the _Lunacy_ —not to mention Tom’s unwitting involvement. “One of the servers found a suspicious jar and brought it to Thomas’ attention…” she finished.  
           “We can’t yet reveal any witnesses or evidence uncovered,” added Thomas following her lead, “as the investigation is still under way. However, the quick thinking aurors present were able to put everyone to sleep in record time minimizing possible injuries due to the effects of Lunacy…” Auror names were never publicly mentioned; that was like planting a bull’s eye on their back.  
           “I suppose that’s close enough to the truth,” agreed Winonan grudgingly.  
           “Have you something to take the green off the skin?” questioned Potter.  
           “No,” admitted Paige, “but I can make something.”  
           “Something we can use tonight?” persisted Potter.  
           Paige thought. She could add _Purifier_ to the _Clear Skin_ she’d brought along for sale, stir in some herbs and put in few drops of a stabilizer… It was possible. Good thing she’d brought along her basic potions bag… “Yes,” Paige answered simply. “But I’d need your help,” she added looking at Potter. He nodded. The two looked expectantly at Thomas.  
           “Do it,” he decided aloud. “I don’t think we want the people from the Ministry walking around with green skin…”  
           Paige nodded. _“Lumos!”_ she said waiving her wand and then started off in the direction of the refreshment table. Potter followed.  
“Sir is here!” Paige whispered to Potter as they picked their way through the fallen people and debris.  
           “Shut off the lights? Maybe screamed? Yeah, probably,” Potter answered. “More likely he found an exit and skipped out before getting injured by the mayhem he expected… Or not.”  
           “And if he’s here?” Paige asked as she selected a heavy punch bowl on the table, solid silver by the looks of it. Perfect. Paige tilted the bowl and poured the contents out onto the floor. No need to worry about neatness with the mess already everywhere.  
           “Treat him like everyone else and let him leave,” replied Potter as Paige wiped the punch bowl out. “Do not try to identify him; don’t try to stop him. I won’t risk Holly.”  
           Paige nodded. She picked up the matching silver spoon; she might be able to use it. There was already a plan in place; it wasn’t wise to jeopardize it. “Carry this,” she directed and she held her wand high to light Potter’s way.  
           “When this is over, I’d like you and Richards to return to the mansion.” Potter said as he carried the bowl back to Paige’s burnt table.  
           “I have a business to start and a wedding to plan,” protested Paige as Potter set the bowl on the table.  
           “How did Sir get that jar?” questioned Potter pointedly as Paige set down the silver spoon. Paige dug into her potions bag, drew out a small candle and set it on the table next to the punch bowl. “You’re too careful for it to have been an accident,” Potter continued when Paige didn’t answer. “Sir got to Richards too, didn’t he?”  
           “Yes,” Paige admitted reluctantly after she lit the candle.  
           “You’re still the only witness to Sir in the Ercwlff mess,” Potter reminded. “Sir targeted both you and Dean! We don’t know what he’ll try next once he learns what happened tonight. If Dean could remember he’d be the first one to tell you this but he can’t so I am. I think it’s best if you and Richards lay low until this is over, someplace safe where Sir can’t get at either of you. Tonight—at the mansion.”  
           Paige pulled out the supplies she would need for the potion she was mixing while she considered Potter’s words. She well remembered reading the reports of Sir and his activities with Holly. Sir had released Tom unharmed this time because it served his purpose but would he do so again? “Very well,” agreed Paige reluctantly. Potter wouldn’t risk Holly and she wouldn’t risk Tom.  
           “Good,” replied Potter. “Mrs. Black will be so pleased… Do you need anything else?”  
           “No.”  
           “Then I think I’ll try to find Wizard Pilkington. He’ll know who was here and be able to tell if anyone is missing. It might give us a new alias… _Lumos!”_ Potter said holding out his wand. It lit up and he walked off.

 


	15. Chapter 15

          A face! Jane woke bathed in sweat, her mind filled with terrifying images of her latest dream. Besides the screams, flames, smoke and terror Jane could see a face—dark skinned, with a domed head, glittering black eyes and a pointy beard. “Kill them,” the face said imperiously. The lips curled into a disdainful sneer as he spoke. There was no humanity, no pity or sympathy anywhere in that face.  
           “The girl is still alive,” whispered a shadowy form near the face. “Shall I kill her too?”  
           “No!” the face said. “She may still be of use…”  
           Jane opened her eyes and stared blankly into the space around her. She felt so tired but gone were the times when she slept peacefully through the night. Too frightened to sleep Jane drew the blankets protectively around her body and huddled on the bed while she watched the blackness outside the window turn to dark gray and gradually get lighter.  
           “You should have told me!” scolded Uncle John paternally when he saw Jane the next morning. “I would have come immediately! No one should have to sit alone with such thoughts!”  
           “I didn’t want to bother you,” protested Jane.  
           “Nonsense!” argued Uncle John. “That’s what I’m here for. I’m family!” he continued as he pulled out the chair next to him. “Now, sit next to me and tell me all about the face.” He patted the chair invitingly. “I’ll keep you safe,” Uncle John assured Jane as she sat down next to him. “Describe the face,” he encouraged. “You’ll feel ever so much better if you share those awful memories with me… With luck, I’ll be able to identify the person and we’ll make him _pay_ for what he did to you and your parents…” Uncle John’s face darkened dangerously as he spoke…

**********

          “But I don’t understand,” said Jane after she had described her dream and the face she saw. “What use could I be for anyone? I’m not special and I don’t know anything!”  
           “I have an idea about that,” said Uncle John mysteriously.  
           “What?”  
           “Not now,” he told her. “You need to rest after that awful night. We’ll discuss that later, perhaps after lunch…”  
           “Yes, sir,” said Jane disappointedly.  
           “I have some business to complete in my study,” Uncle John told Jane. His study was behind another door in the house that was always kept closed. It wasn’t locked nor had Jane been forbidden to enter, but she had never felt the urge to explore or visit Uncle John while he was there. “Why don’t you use the time to put this latest memory in your dream journal; don’t leave out any details. Can you draw?” Jane shook her head. She couldn’t remember drawing anything, ever… “No matter. When you finish your journal, take a piece of paper and try to draw the man from your dreams. I can use that to help identify him. Then lie down for a bit or, if you like, just read for a while to take your mind off things.”  
           “Yes, sir,” Jane agreed reluctantly. She didn’t really want to do any of those things, didn’t want to dwell on the awful dream but if she refused, Uncle John probably wouldn’t explain the “use” he thought the person with the pointy beard had for her…

**********

          Unwilling to sleep, Jane sat out on the porch to read and watch the waves. She finished _The Crucible_ and started in on a book titled _The Gypsies._ Expecting something filled with romance and music, Jane was disappointed to learn the book recounted centuries of Gypsy persecution throughout Europe…  
           Uncle John finally called her in for lunch. He wouldn’t let Jane discuss the man in the dream and instead asked Jane what she thought of the books she had been reading. “I think the people in the Americas are fools if they really believe in witches, more so when they believed the flimsy testimony presented by the witnesses,” Jane exclaimed.  
           “There are a lot of fools out there, especially in the Americas,” agreed Uncle John. “Fools in Europe as well,” he added clearly referring to the Gypsy book, “with tiny minds unable to accept or appreciate the beauty of diversity. We must be on our guard against such people who would destroy everything unique or unusual…”  
           “How about a walk?” Uncle John suggested at the end of the meal. “You’ve been moping around the house too much,” he told Jane. “The fresh air and exercise should do you good.” Accordingly Jane grabbed her jacket and followed Uncle John outside. Usually, the grounds around the house didn’t feel safe when Jane stepped off the porch, but at the moment, the outside seemed open and inviting. Uncle John led Jane away from the house on a narrow path near the cliff’s edge.  
           “So what use did the man mean?” asked Jane as the two walked.  
           “In time,” said Uncle John enigmatically. “Let’s walk for a bit first.”  
           So Jane followed Uncle John down the path. He stopped frequently to point out and name different plants along the trail and to show her animal tracks in the dirt. One time Jane happened to turn around and to her surprise could no longer see the house! “It’s well camouflaged,” Uncle John proudly told Jane when she asked where the house was. “I don’t like being disturbed by strangers.” Then he continued to walk further away from where the house had been. Jane hastened her steps to keep up.  
           “How do you feel?” Uncle John asked after they stopped to watch the birds in flight.  
           “Fine,” lied Jane. In truth, she felt so exhausted she could barely stand. The lack of sleep since coming to live with Uncle John was taking its toll. But Jane didn’t say that to Uncle John because she was afraid he would insist she try to sleep instead of telling her what he thought the man with the pointed beard intended.  
           “Then there is something I would like to show you.” Uncle John started walking again and Jane followed. They came upon a family, a man and a woman and a small child, walking the other way. Uncle John pulled Jane off the trail to let them pass. “How do you feel now?” he asked in a low voice as the trio passed.  
           “Fine—” said Jane automatically and then did a mental double-take. She actually _did_ feel much better—more awake, and energized.  
           “Good,” said Uncle John approvingly. “I knew the walk would do you good.” They continued walking and the extra energy Jane had felt subsided.  
           “And now?” questioned Uncle John as they stood aside for an elderly couple to pass.  
           “Less fine,” answered Jane honestly. “My muscles ache and my knees feel wobbly.” How strange...  
           “What about now?” questioned Uncle John as a limping hiker approached.  
           “My knee hurts!” exclaimed Jane in surprise. “It feels as if I sprained it!”  
           “You haven’t sprained your knee,” Uncle John said calmly.  
           “No, I haven’t,” agreed Jane. “This is weird!”  
           “Perhaps, perhaps not,” replied Uncle John. “Perhaps it is the hiker coming towards us who has sprained his knee… You’ll note he is favoring his left leg. Does your left leg hurt?”  
           “Yes, it does,” replied Jane in confusion. “How can we both have the same injury?”  
           “You can’t,” informed Uncle John bluntly. “Note what happens after he leaves.” The two waited silently until the hiker had passed.  
           “The pain is diminishing,” Jane whispered as the hiker got further and further away.  
           “Of course,” agreed Uncle John. “It was never your pain in the first place.”  
           “I don’t understand…”  
           “Your mother could always tell how other people felt,” informed Uncle John. “It would seem you have that same ability…”  
           “I have?” questioned Jane with wonder. “She did?”  
           “She did,” replied Uncle John firmly. “She and I often argued about that ability. She wanted to share it with those in need and I told her it was too dangerous; that people would misunderstand and fear her for her differences…” His voice trailed off. “I think that is what killed her…” he concluded in a low voice.  
           “Killed?” whispered Jane softly.  
           “Yes. Your mum was a soft-hearted creature. Too soft. She always believed the best of people and refused to think they could behave otherwise. She probably said something to the wrong person and, well, you probably know more of what happened after that better than I…”  
Fire, smoke, death! Images of her nightmarish dreams flooded Jane’s mind.  
           “Dear Jane,” continued Uncle John softly. “For your own safety we must _never_ let anyone know of your gift and we must harden our hearts so we can _avenge_ your mum and father.”  
           Jane didn’t remember much of the rest of the walk. It was a blur; she just sort of stumbled along following Uncle John. He would stop periodically and ask Jane how she felt and Jane would answer, only now she knew Uncle John really didn’t want to know how she felt but how the people passing by felt. The people who passed by weren’t well. Jane felt—head-aches, stomach aches, tooth-aches, sore fingers, knees, toes… Jane lost track of all the feelings.  
           Eventually Uncle John stopped and Jane realized she stood again in front of his house. He opened the door and helped Jane inside. He sat her down at the table and spooned some thick soup between her unresisting lips. Then Uncle John led Jane to her bed saying she needed to get some rest. Without bothering to change her clothes, Jane lay down on the bed. She let Uncle John place a pillow beneath her head and pull up the covers. Then Jane closed her eyes and was soon asleep.

**********

          Jane dreamed. Smoke, fire and fear all consumed her. This time she also heard a strangely familiar woman’s voice, “Please don’t, sir, please!” the voice pleaded. “Please, sir, don’t do this, please.” Again Jane saw the face of the man with the pointed beard. Behind his face was another face with stony green eyes that stared through thick rimmed glasses.  
         The man with the pointed beard stared imperiusly towards Jane and Jane heard the word, “Now!”  
          Jane woke sobbing uncontrollably. “Oh, mum!” she whispered certain that was the identity of the woman’s voice she had heard. “What happened? What did they do to you?” Jane cried certain she already knew the answer. Her mum was indeed dead and the faces she saw had been the cause.  
          The door opened; a shaft of light entered the room. Jane turned her head. She saw Uncle John’s face illuminated by the light of a single candle.  
          “You are awake,” said Uncle John. “I thought I heard something. Uncle John walked into the room. He set the candle on the small table next to Jane’s bed. “It’s late,” he told her. “You should be asleep,” he scolded gently. “What happened? Did you have another dream?”  
Jane sniffed and nodded.  
          “Do you want to tell me about it?”  
          Jane shook her head. Talking about her dreams seemed to make things worse not better.  
          “That’s O.K.,” he told her. “Later. Close your eyes,” he instructed. “I’ll sit here with you until you go back to sleep.” Uncle John pulled the chair close and sat down.  
          Jane closed her eyes but in her mind’s eye she could still see the faces, smoke and fire and still hear the pleas of her mum...  
          When Jane next opened her eyes it was daylight. Uncle John was gone but an extinguished candle was on the table and chair was still besides her bed, visible reminders of the previous night.

**********

          “You’re wrong!” announced Jane at breakfast that morning. She was feeling definitely more refreshed than the previous day and could think more clearly.  
           “Oh?” questioned Uncle John. “About what?”  
           “About feeling what others feel,” she told him. “I can’t do that. I was just tired…”  
           “What makes you say that?”  
           “I can’t feel what _you_ feel!” she explained. “If I could feel what people feel, I would surely _feel_ you.”  
           “Of course you can’t,” Uncle John laughed. “ _We’re_ related!”  
           “Huh?”  
           “Your mum couldn’t sense my feelings either,” he told her. “I think it’s a genetic thing. Can you imagine the potential for destruction if squabbling siblings could sense each other’s feelings? Besides, your mum couldn’t sense _everyone’s_ feelings either.”  
           “Oh,” said Jane in a smaller voice. She didn’t like the idea of having some special ability. “I still don’t get why anyone would want to “use” me. So I know someone has a toothache. Big deal. It’s not like I’m planning to be a dentist.”  
           “That is because, you, like your mum, are a kind, honest person. Imagine, if you will, a thief with your gift sneaking into a museum.” he began. “Suddenly he senses the feelings of someone else... He hasn’t heard a thing, but now he has enough time to hide from the approaching guard… With a bit of practice I’m sure you could tell the difference between the feelings of someone lying or telling the truth. Imagine how useful that would be to a criminal leader seeking to insure undercover police officers are not part of his group…” Uncle John added.  
           Jane shivered suddenly very afraid.  
           “Don’t worry,” assured Uncle John confidently. “I’ll take care of you. The people who killed your parents shall _never_ harm you,” he added resolutely. “Furthermore, you and I shall use that wonderful gift of yours to avenge your parents and make sure no one hurts you ever again…”

**********

          “Why don’t we take another walk,” suggested Uncle John when they had finished lunch. Jane nodded. That was better than anything she had done in the morning. She had spent her morning reliving the night by writing in her dream book. Then Uncle John insisted she try to draw the new face she had seen in her dreams. Afterwards she tried to read. Jane gave up on the Gypsy book and its accounts of horrible persecution and instead started something called _The Woman in White_ —It started with the main character meeting a woman who lived in an asylum which reminded Jane uncomfortably of her time at Meadowslake…  
           Uncle John led Jane down a path she had never noticed before. It led inland away from the ocean. Uncle John set off at a brisk pace and Jane had to hurry to keep up with him. They went down one hill and up another until Jane could no longer see or hear the ocean. The cooling winds stopped and the sun shone brightly. In the distance Jane saw a small village nestled in the valley. “I think it’s time to test whether or not you can tell if someone lies,” Uncle John told Jane.  
           “How do you plan to do that?” questioned Jane.  
           “Watch and see,” he told her confidently. “But remember, don’t say or do anything unless I tell you to first,” he warned. “No one must know anything of you or what you can do…” Jane shivered at his words.  
           “Wait here,” Uncle John told Jane. Jane watched as Uncle John pulled something out of his pocket and walked up to a small child playing in his front yard. “Did you drop this?” he asked the child while holding out the item in his hand. The child regarded Uncle John warily but looked into his hand.  
           Jane could sense both fear and curiosity. _“How odd,”_ she thought to herself. _“I don’t ever remember sensing such emotions before…”_  
           “It’s O.K.,” Uncle John assured the child. “Tell me the truth.” The child shook his head and then ran into the safety of his home.  
Uncle John held up the coin in his hand for Jane to see. “Already they’re frightened of the unfamiliar,” he told Jane critically. “But they’re still honest.”  
           “I doubt it’ll be the same for those two,” he told Jane pointing to two older boys walking their bikes further ahead. Uncle John pulled out some bills and then walked up to them. Jane followed. Uncle John’s words bothered her. Of course the child was wary—that’s what parents teach their children—to keep away from strangers, to keep them safe. Was the child’s fear more than that?  
           “Excuse me,” began Uncle John when he drew near. “Did either of you loose this?” He held up a bill as he spoke. “I found this on the path behind you.”  
           “Uh yeah, I did,” said one of the boys swiftly. “Thanks!” the boy said as he grabbed the bill and stuffed it into his pocket. Then the two boys got onto their bikes and cycled quickly away.  
           “Well?” asked Uncle John expectantly. “Could you tell the lie from their feelings?”  
           “Yes,” admitted Jane reluctantly. There had been two distinct emotions, one uncertain and the other positively deceitful without any remorse. Then there was satisfaction and happiness when the boy held the bill.  
           “They reflect what their parents teach them—lies, suspicion and distrust,” concluded Uncle John disgustedly.  
           “There was no suspicion or distrust,” Jane corrected softly. “And only one lied,” she reminded. She didn’t know why she felt the need to defend them; they had obviously taken money that was not theirs, but Uncle John was so condescending…  
           Uncle John looked at her strangely. For a moment Jane wished he wasn’t related so she could tell _his_ emotions. Then Uncle John said, “An _innocent,_ just like your mum. And where did it get her? Do you think the adults are any better? Let me show you something…” He took off down the road at a fast pace. Jane again had to hurry to keep up.  
           This time Uncle John stopped outside a pub. He waited for Jane to come to a breathless stop next to him. “Stay out here,” he told Jane, “but count how many lie _this_ time.”  
           Jane peered inside the pub as Uncle John strode in. Several people were inside, mostly men—seated around tables with mugs in their hands. They looked up at Uncle John’s arrival and Jane immediately felt a mild sense of curiosity.  
           Uncle John walked up to the counter and pulled out some more money and set it on the counter for the barman. “Drinks for everyone here who has no problem with a _Gypsy_ moving in next door,” he announced loudly.  
           There was a pause. Jane felt an immediate mixture of emotions ranging from ambivalence to revulsion and then almost every hand raised up to get the free drink. In some way they were all lying.  
           After they were served, one middle-aged man with dark hair and thick muscles on his arms, mug in hand walked up to Uncle John. “Why you asking?’ he demanded aggressively planting his face a few centimeters from Uncle John’s. “You know of some _gypsies_ moving in?”  
           “No,” replied Uncle John holding his ground and looking the man squarely back. “I’m looking for a safe place for my niece and me to settle and if this area welcomes gypsies, then it is _not_ the place for us!”  
           The man gave Jane a hard stare and then looked down at the mug in his hand. He set the mug on the table. “Take your drink back,” he told Uncle John. “I’d rather have a good neighbor than a drink any day!”  
           “Hear, hear!” chorused several of the other men in the room. They shoved their drinks away and removed their hand from the mugs too.  
           Uncle John smiled. “This might be an excellent place to live,” he told the group. “Where might I find a real estate agent to consult?”  
Several gave him directions. Uncle John bowed and then made his exit. “How many lied that time?” he asked Jane as they walked away.  
           “All,” she admitted reluctantly. “Even you!” she observed.  
           “Me! Of course not,” scoffed Uncle John.  
           “But you said you didn’t want to live in an area that welcomed gypsies,” persisted Jane.  
           “And I don’t,” agreed Uncle John. “Gypsies are charlatans who pretend to have gifts and abilities which they don’t. They’re relatively harmless but annoying. And despite the fact that some people might find this an _excellent_ place to live, that doesn’t mean I do! For if the people here worry this much about Gypsies, think how they would react to learn what _you_ can do?”  
           Jane shivered. “Let’s go back,” she said suddenly. “I don’t feel so good.” And she didn’t. The overwhelming fear she felt in her dreams had returned. The fear combined with the thought of relentless persecution she had read about happening to the Gypsies and the distrust she sensed from the local people made Jane feel very unsafe.  
           Uncle John smiled. “Of course,” he told her. And the two started the long walk back to his house.


	16. Chapter 16

          Ginny Potter sat down at the dinner table and let Harry scoot her chair in closer. She looked around the table with the cut glass service ware and delicate porcelain dishes rimmed in gold and painted with fiery green dragons. Meals were such a production when Paige and Tom were there. Mrs. Black insisted on planning everything and Kreacher happily obeyed… Why hadn’t mum gotten rid of some of the uglier pieces when she was cleaning the place for Sirius? Or had she tried and the dishes were one more thing Kreacher had managed to save? At any rate, it was too late now.  
           Harry started to sit when Kreacher appeared at his side holding a silver platter in his hand. There was a plain scroll tied with a red ribbon on the platter. A message at this hour? Kreacher would have never bothered Harry with it unless it was important and, as Kreacher couldn’t read, Phineas, who screened all their mail before letting it be delivered, probably told Kreacher to take it to Harry immediately.  
           “Thank you,” said Harry calmly and picked up the scroll. He slid off the ribbon and started to read. When he had finished, Harry re-rolled the scroll, tucked it in his pocket and looked around the group. “I’m so sorry,” he began, “but there’s something I must take care of…”  
           “Can I help?” questioned Dean starting to rise from his chair.  
           “No, it’s personal, but important…” replied Harry. “If you will excuse me…” Harry started swiftly towards the door.  
           “Uh, excuse me while I see him off,” said Ginny rising swiftly. She hurried to catch up. “What is it?” asked Ginny when she drew near.  
           “Just something I need to do,” replied Harry vaguely. “I shouldn’t be long,” he added kissing her lightly on the cheek.  
           “We’ve company,” protested Ginny. “Can’t it wait?”  
           “I don’t think so,” replied Harry.  
           He turned to leave but Ginny grabbed his wrist stopping him. “What’s going on,” she insisted. “I need to know in case you _forget_ …”  
           Harry winced. That word had elicited a lot of information out of Harry recently. “It’s from the Hufflepuffs,” he finally told her. “The Muggle media has been circulating a report that the authorities are looking for someone whose photo and description matches that of Holly.”  
           “Holly?”  
           “Yes. The reports say the authorities want her for questioning in a series of particularly brutal murders and are looking for public assistance in finding her.”  
           “No!” exclaimed Ginny. “It can’t be!”  
           “Probably not,” agreed Harry, “especially as the girl they are looking for supposedly answers to the name of “Dursely.”  
           “Dursley!”  
           “Yeah. The Dursley name insures any casual _wizard_ reader will forget immediately so the Hufflepuffs are sure this is some trick put out by Sir, quite possibly a ploy to draw out the grandparents; they want me to make sure the family doesn’t respond.”  
           “That could take longer than a few minutes,” observed Ginny knowing that while Harry could contact the parents easily the grandparents would be more difficult. “Couldn’t it wait until after dinner?”  
           “No. It’s not like we are in the habit of reading Muggle news. This search has already gone on for a while. It may already be too late; I’ve got to check on them now!”  
           “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”  
           Harry drew in a breath. “Have dinner.”  
           “And then?”  
           “Well, Dean is here to talk to Paige privately and he wouldn’t want me there anyway.” Dean had sent a letter to that effect to Harry that morning. As Tom still didn’t know Paige was an auror, the only way they could arrange the meeting was to invite Dean to dinner…  
           “That leaves me with Tom _alone!_ ” Ginny complained. While Paige was icy and cold, she was at least quiet and kept to herself. Tom was loud and arrogant; it was difficult to maintain a polite veneer around him.  
           “Ask him about the wedding plans,” suggested Harry. “That will keep him talking all evening.”  
           “That was going to be the dinner conversation around Dean,” reminded Ginny. “It won’t do for the rest of the night…” A small sunrise garden ceremony with the bare minimum number of witnesses present, no need to make an ostentatious display of their love… Tom had talked about nothing but the wedding ever since Harry had brought them here and probably could talk all night on the topic if encouraged… But Ginny didn’t want to. Enough was enough.  
           “Then play a game of wizard chess with him,” suggested Harry. “And _win!_ That should keep him quiet for a while.”  
           “Win?” protested Ginny. “But I haven’t played chess in ages!”  
           “You used to play chess all the time with Ron when we were younger and he was one of the best,” reminded Harry. “You can do it, I know you can. I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he assured. Then Harry opened the door and stepped out. The door closed behind him.  
           Ginny sighed. She planted a smile on her face and returned to the dining room. “Would anyone like a glass of wine with the first course?” she asked. It was going to be a long evening…

**********

          “That was a wonderful meal,” said Wizard Thomas as he slid his chair back giving himself more space. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”  
           “The pleasure was ours,” said Mrs. Potter graciously.  
           Any inviting was probably done at the instigation of Wizard Thomas himself but Paige Brenna Crowley doubted Mrs. Potter would admit to it. As soon as people started waking up at Pilkington’s Ball, Potter had hustled Paige and Tom out and to the Black Mansion returning to the ballroom to assist as needed with the recoveries. Thomas hadn’t had a chance to talk with Paige since.  
           Pilkington’s Ball had made headline news the next day— _Special Edition,_ actually, as Rita hadn’t woken up in time to meet the regular deadline. Paige was sorry she wasn’t able to see the photos or read the paper for herself. Tom, however, was happy to read aloud and summarize the contents for her.  
           Pilkington took a big hit for failing to “disarm” the Muggle security provisions that released some sort of sleeping gas in the event of a Muggle blackout. Thomas took a similar hit for failing to check for such things in the course of his security preparations for Minister Shacklebolt. Of course, there had been no such Muggle security provisions but no one corrected Rita in her interpretation of the events. The truth was much more alarming and difficult to explain. Pilkington publically apologized profusely for the _error_ and promised his next event would be someplace out in the open where they would not need to worry about such things. Pilkington could lie most convincingly. Paige remembered how he had also apologized to the seven hooded students successfully diffusing a potentially explosive situation and keeping them all out of Azkaban. She decided that “apologies” could be a useful tool…  
           “It’s too bad Harry had to miss it,” Mrs. Potter continued regretfully.  
           Potter would have never left Mrs. Potter to fend for herself with a houseful of guests without good reason; he refused Thomas’ offer of help so it probably had something to do with Holly. Paige would have liked to know what, but she couldn’t ask in front of Tom or Thomas.  
           “Uh, may I have a word in private with Miss Crowley?” questioned Thomas. “It’s uh, about this bill I received for damaged bottles…” Paige had not yet submitted her bill. When she did, it would be for more than a few damaged bottles. Thomas couldn’t lie as well as Pilkington. His words probably didn’t fool Mrs. Potter but they fooled Tom and he was the only one in the room who didn’t know Thomas might have other reasons to confer with Paige...  
           “Of course,” said Mrs. Potter. She pushed her chair back and rose. “I’ll in the living room,” she told Thomas.  
           Paige nodded to Tom. “I’ll be with you shortly,” she told him so he rose as well.  
           “Do you play Wizard Chess?” Mrs. Potter asked Tom. Tom puffed in pride and nodded his head. “Perhaps we could play a game while we wait,” she suggested as they left the room.  
           “I’d love to,” Paige heard him say. “But I must warn you. I’m very good. I’ve been playing at the Wizard Club, you know; I hope you don’t mind loosing…”  
           Soon, it was only Paige and Thomas in the dining room. Paige looked expectantly at Thomas.  
           “I uh, haven’t thanked you for your work at the Ball,” began Thomas.  
            Paige nodded but didn’t speak. It was her due but at the same time she had done her job; thanks were technically unnecessary. Public appreciation would have been nice but that was one of the disadvantages of being an auror. Aurors were kept in the background as much as possible. Paige did, however, receive a very nice “thank-you” note from Minister Shacklebolt that she intended to keep safe. It might come in useful should she ever need a recommendation or her auror status became public.  
           “I wanted to ask you about that, uh, incident which occurred while I was in the wardrobe closet,” Thomas added. Paige waited silently for him to continue. “I presume you saw what happened?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “I have, of course, heard other accounts but have not yet had a chance to get yours…”  
           “There were many aurors there more experienced than I,” Paige reminded. “Any account I provide is redundant and unnecessary.”  
           “Perhaps,” agreed Thomas. “But I like to be thorough.” He looked at her expectantly.  
           Paige mentally sighed and rolled her eyes. “Seven people walked in,” she began in a professional tone. “They wore matching black floor length robes that covered their bodies and masked hoods that covered their heads. The music stopped when they walked in,” she continued. “Everyone looked at the seven. The seven continued to walk to the center of the ballroom. They did not speak and instead raised their wands and fired a single blasting spell into the wall. At which point they were immediately disarmed. Several wizards took part,” Paige added informatively. “I can name names if you wish.” Thomas shook his head. Paige continued. “Then Wizard Pilkington came out, apologized and escorted the seven away,” she concluded succinctly.  
           “Did you, uh, recognize any of the seven?” asked Thomas directly.  
           Paige took a sip of water from her glass before speaking. “They were hooded,” Paige reminded bluntly implying that it was not possible to recognize any of them. Of course she had recognized them-- _all_ of them through other means such as wands, shoes, height, distinctive postures and walks, but that was not something she intended to share with Thomas if she didn’t have to.  
           “The costumes,” persisted Thomas. “Some, if not all of them, were likely Slytherins. Perhaps you remember hearing someone expressing an interest in crashing the ball? Maybe at some Slytherin function or while you were at Hogwarts?”  
           Paige looked at Thomas in disbelief. Could he be so _naive?_ _“Everyone_ has,” she told him flatly.  
           “What?” said Thomas in obvious surprise. “Even you?”  
           “Of course,” admitted Paige openly. “But only as an academic exercise…” she amended.  
           “But, why?”  
           “A regular social gathering with lots of dignitaries in attendance,” Paige reminded Thomas, “it’s a perfect opportunity…”  
           “For what?”  
           “I could never decide on that,” Paige admitted. “Besides, unknown security features and an unknown number of aurors in attendance made my ideas too risky to implement. The use of _Dreamless_ would change things considerably…” Paige added speculatively.  
           Thomas shuttered visibly. “Someone suggested they might be students,” Thomas said. “Can you think of any students more likely to—”  
           “If they are students then it is surely a matter for Headmistress McGonagall,” interrupted Paige firmly.  
           “True,” agreed Thomas, “but we need to do our own investigation to find the connection…”  
           “Connection?”  
           “Between them and, uh, the reason why I was in the wardrobe closet at the time…” he added uncomfortably.  
           “There is none,” assured Paige.  
           “How can you be certain?”  
           “The seven were amateurs and fools,” began Paige analytically. “They attacked on impulse with no thought of consequences or follow-through.”  
           “Follow-through?”  
           “Yes. They should have realized a frontal attack would result in exactly what happened and tried some other strategy or made preparations accordingly.”  
           “But there _was_ follow-through,” argued Thomas. “The _Lunacy_.”  
           “No,” Paige disagreed. _“Lunacy_ was part of a well thought out plan to discredit both you and me, a plan implemented in such a way as to leave no trace of the actual culprit. Making the ointment alone, _(the recipe for which she had yet to find)_ was no last minute effort,” reminded Paige. “In addition, it would have taken someone with considerable skill to succeed in casting an _Imperius Curse_ on you and get you to obey instructions that would not come in conflict with your auror vows,” Paige reminded. Thomas nodded reluctantly. “The seven did not display that kind of forethought or intelligence,” Paige concluded confidently.  
           Did Thomas know about Sir? Paige doubted it. Potter was very insistent she discuss Sir with no one… That was the one thing Paige liked about Potter. Even if he _was_ a Gryffindor, Potter could keep a secret with the best of them. It had probably been a wise decision.  
           Thomas was an auror like Paige. The books were very clear that death would happen should an auror attempt to behave in contradiction to his/her vows. The experts were less certain what would happen to an auror who acted in contradiction to his/her vows while under the influence of an Imperius Curse. Most assumed the auror in such circumstances would die, but there was no evidence to confirm this. Nothing in the vows prevented Thomas from answering questions put to him while under an _Imperius Curse_. Sir would have found Thomas a wealth of information had Thomas remembered Holly.  
           “Had the seven been part of the Lunacy plan,” Paige added aloud, “then at the very least their arrival would have been timed to coincide with the black-out when their activities could have achieved maximum damage and affording them an opportunity to escape unopposed.”  
           Paige took another sip from her water glass. She took a deep breath, fixed her eyes on Thomas and advised. “You should leave the investigation of the seven students in Headmistress McGonagall’s capable hands.” Normally she would never waste her time telling a Gryffindor to do anything or interfere with the bumblings of Magical Law Enforcement but this time she had to.  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. She is very protective of the Hogwarts students and will no doubt wish to handle everything very quietly…”  
           “Telling us nothing…” observed Thomas bluntly.  
           “Of course not,” agreed Paige, “but you do not want to know anything. You have been compromised by the _Imperius Curse,_ ” Paige reminded Thomas bluntly. “If you have been cursed once it can happen again at which time you will undoubtedly be questioned. Should the maker of Lunacy decide to go recruiting, those seven would be an excellent start and who better to ask for their names than you…”  
           Paige was rewarded by an instant blanching of Thomas’ face. She kept her face devoid of expression but smiled inwardly. Her suggestion would protect Tom from the embarrassing publicity that would result should his brother’s involvement at the Ball become known. It would minimize Anthony’s opportunities to join with Sir and she did _not_ wish a _Dark_ brother-in-law. Anthony deserved any punishment McGonagall and Slughorn could think up if they learned he was involved. Anthony should have never been so stupid as to try such a stunt and in trying should have _never_ permitted himself to be identified… Even Tom had recognized him! If the Hogwarts investigation turned up no names before the Holiday break, Tom had his own plans for Anthony, as did Paige, for interfering with her potions debut.

**********

           “It’s Holly! I know it is!” Kenny Perkins told Mr. Ballytwirk excitedly.  
           “You sure?” he asked looking at the blurry photo and the news account that came with it.  
           “Certain! Even the Dursely name!”  
           “But that isn’t her name is it?”  
           “It’s their grandparent’s name,” informed Kenny, “before they, uh, changed it to Wycliff.”  
           “Oh. So what do you want to do?” asked Mr. Ballytwirk.  
           “Do? We’ve got to call them!” Kenny said eagerly. “Tell them! Tell them I know who she is, know—”  
           “Know where she is?”  
           “Uh, no,” admitted Kenny. Three months since school had started and Kenny had still heard nothing from Vernon. His absence seemed to bother no one except Kenny, and maybe, Mr. Ballytwirk. Mr. Ballytwirk had officially gone on leave to care for a sick aunt who was not expected to live much longer but he returned to the Library when he could to help out. Kenny suspected the visits were a chance for Mr. Ballytwirk to take his mind off the oppressive situation of dealing with a dying person.  
           “They are looking for information to help them find her,” reminded Mr. Ballytwirk gently. “I’m not sure how much help you can be… No matter.” Mr. Ballytwirk reached for the library phone. “Give me the number,” he told Kenny. Kenny found the contact number and read it off for Mr. Ballytwirk. Mr. Ballytwirk punched the numbers in and waited.  
           “Hello? I’m calling about that girl, the Dursley one… … Yes, that’s it. My name is Mr. Ballytwirk and I’m calling from Smeltings School. One of my students believes he recognizes the girl in the photo. … Yes. He says her name is Holly Wycliff and she is a sister to one of the lads who attended our school, a Mr. Vernon Wycliff. No, Mr. Wycliff is not a student at Smeltings at this time. The family apparently moved during the summer. No, they left no forwarding address. No, the friend doesn’t have an address either. What? Let me check.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand.  
           “When was the last time you saw Holly?” he asked Kenny.  
           “Uh, last fall, in September,” Kenny replied.  
           “September of last year,” said Mr. Ballytwirk over the phone. He was quiet, listening and then spoke some more. “Yes, of course, that makes sense. I understand… I’ll tell him. Thank you so much.” Then Mr. Ballytwirk hung up. He looked at Kenny. “They say they are looking for more … _recent_ … sightings of the young lady. Should you spot her again, please let them know…”  
           “Oh,” said Kenny discouraged. “Yes, of course.”  
           “But that doesn’t mean we can’t watch the news about this,” said Mr. Ballytwirk in an encouraging voice. “If they find her, then we can go to wherever she is and ask her about Vernon…”  
           “Yeah, sure,” said Kenny politely but he didn’t have too much faith in that. He had a horrible feeling that police would not find Holly no matter how hard they tried.


	17. Chapter 17

           “I wish I could remember more!” complained Jane. She was sitting in the parlor writing in her dream book, again.  
           “You’ve remembered lots of things,” reminded Uncle John mildly.  
           “Yes, but not the things I want to,” protested Jane. She _had_ been remembering more. Behind the smoke, flames and screams now appeared crowds of people and lots of faces, some blurry, some clear, all staring hatefully at Jane. In the background Jane heard the words: “Kill them!” and “ "Burn!” chanted over and over again. Even after she woke Jane could swear she could still smell the scent of burning wood and something else Jane was sure had to be burning flesh.  
           “Why can’t I remember anything else?” Jane complained. “Like my mum’s face or a birthday party or something not so scary?”  
           “You remember what you _need_ to remember, what your mind is _capable_ of remembering while remaining _sane_ ,” answered Uncle John calmly. “Be patient,” he assured her. “It’ll come.”  
           “If you say so,” agreed Jane glumly while wishing she had her music to listen to—anything to take her mind off the horrible feelings that always lingered after writing in her journal. Unfortunately, Uncle John had refused to let Jane listen to any music claiming the music had been an _opioid_ preventing her from regaining her memories. Uncle John insisted that describing her experiences and recording what she remembered on paper would help Jane better than any song, but it hadn’t, not yet. Jane despaired of that day ever happening.  
           “When you finish I have something special to show you,” said Uncle John as Jane pulled out her art supplies. If she could actually draw Jane would have drawn flowers or ocean scapes, but she couldn’t draw and all she could see in her mind were the faces from her horrible dreams. That suited Uncle John just fine who insisted Jane draw what she saw as best she could.  
           “Oh?” said Jane politely while feeling less than pleased with the announcement. Most days, after Jane had finished recording her dreams, Uncle John would retreat into his study leaving Jane free to her own devices. Jane would often use the time to catch up on her sleep having discovered that morning naps seemed to contain less horrific dreams…  
           “Yes,” affirmed Uncle John with a smile. “It’s something I think you’ll find very interesting…” he added enigmatically.  
Jane looked at her artwork critically. The faces were mostly the same as other nights so she only had to add a couple of touches to ones she had already drawn. A gold earring, here, a zigzaggy scar there, curl the hair of this one a bit more… “Finished!” she announced and held out the art pages to Uncle John to review. It hadn’t taken long to do. “So what did you want to show me?” Jane asked. Maybe whatever Uncle John was going to show here wouldn’t take much time and she could still get in a quick nap before noon…  
           Uncle John put away his book and looked through Holly’s art pages before speaking. “Well, I know how upset you have been lately,” began Uncle John he returned the art to Jane.  
           That was an understatement. The last few village visits had left Jane nearly frantic with fear. The people had looked at her and then looked again with sudden recognition, fear and revulsion. With smiling faces that hid their inner feelings, they had hurried off and out of sight. But Jane could still sense fearful determined emotions lingering just out of sight; she had even insisted Uncle John take several detours on their return home before Jane was satisfied they had lost the followers. Though Uncle John maintained Jane was safe in their home, Jane had made the rounds double checking doors and windows to make sure they were locked securely and then closed all curtains to insure no one could look in…  
           “So, using your descriptions and artwork as a guide, I’ve been looking at people with pointed beards…”  
           Jane felt her body tense with anticipation. “And?” she said warily.  
           “I believe I have found some likely candidates…” Uncle John lifted a folder that had been resting unnoticed on the stand besides his chair.    He handed the folder to Jane. “Look though these photos and see if you recognize anyone…” he suggested.  
           Jane took the folder and cautiously opened it. A face with a pointed beard and black eyes stared back at her. _“No.”_ she thought with mixture of disappointment and relief. _“That’s not him.”_ She turned to the next photo... _“No.”_ And the next… Suddenly! “That’s him!” Jane exclaimed aloud with sudden excitement as she looked at a domed head, glittering black eyes and sneering lips in the photo. There was more than just the face of her mind; he wore a crimson and royal blue suit, trimmed in gold and stood outside a white-pillared building. He was real! Her dreams weren’t a product of an overactive imagination  
           “Let me see,” said Uncle John reaching out for the photo. Jane handed it to him. As she did so Jane’s excitement was replaced by a sudden surge of fear; if he was real, then all those other things she had been dreaming were true too! Sure, Uncle John had said so, but a part of Jane had always hoped they weren’t… Uncle John turned the photo over. Jane could make out some writing on the back. It said, “Gottenram, Banker.”  
           “Banker?” questioned Jane as she read the words. “Why would a banker be interested in me?”  
           “Knowing which mortgages to foreclose, which loans to call in and who to squeeze for more money?” replied Uncle John. “I should think he would find you a most … useful … assistant…” Jane shivered.  
           “And now that we have a name, we have things to do,” said Uncle John briskly.  
           “Like what?” asked Jane disappointedly. It didn’t sound as if she would get in a nap.  
           “You and I are making a trip to London!” he announced.  
           “We are? Why?”  
            “To meet this Mr. Gottenram,” Uncle John answered“What?” exclaimed Jane in sudden panic. “But I can’t do that!”  
           “You can and you must,” insisted Uncle John. “This Gottenram may be the man of your dreams, but is he guilty of killing your parents? Or is he just someone you saw and added to your nightmares?”  
           “But he’ll recognize me!” Jane protested with certainty.  
           “Not if we disguise you first,” replied Uncle John confidently…

**********

           Four hours later Jane was seated next to Uncle John in an auto on her way to London. Her fair skin had been darkened by tan pancake make-up and her blonde hair was hidden underneath a faded black baseball cap. Huge violet coloured sunglasses covered her eyes and hid much of her face. Jane was both excited at the prospect of seeing London and terrified at the thought of confronting one of her attackers.  
           “It’ll be fine,” Uncle John assured her. “I’ll keep you safe.”  
           But the fears remained. Eventually the steady drone of the auto, the monotony and inactivity of sitting in an auto and exhaustion took over.  Jane leaned her head against the auto window, closed her eyes and fell into a troubled sleep.  
           “You shall _pay!”_ the voice seemed to hiss in Jane’s ear. She woke with a start drenched in sweat and shivering with fear. Another bad dream. Jane hadn’t thought she could feel any more scared but she did.  
           “Jane?” said a familiar voice. “Jane dear?”  
           Jane opened her eyes. She turned her head and saw the face of Uncle John looking at her. “We’re here,” he told her. His words reminded Jane of where she was and what they would be doing. Jane sat up and realized the auto had stopped at the curb of a grungy alley. “Did you have another bad dream?” he questioned with concern.  
           “This isn’t a bank,” answered Jane not wanting to relive the particulars of her latest dream; Uncle John would insist she recount it if he thought she had had another nightmare…  
           Uncle John smiled. “Of course not,” he told Jane. “You can’t just park in the front of a bank… We’ve a bit of a walk to get to this particular bank.” He got out of the auto and walked to the boot. He got something out of the boot and then continued around to Jane’s side. Jane unbuckled herself and got out too. “One last thing,” said Uncle John and he draped a thick dark gray cloak around Jane’s shoulders covering her oversized brown hoodie and faded jeans. “It’s a bit cool out today,” he told her. Jane noticed he now wore a dark green cloak over his shoulders. Uncle John readjusted Jane’s cap and glasses and he looked her over. “You look perfect,” he told Jane confidently. “This way.” He turned and led Jane down a narrow alley between two buildings not even large enough for an auto. It was filled with trash and muck that smelled suspiciously like sewage. Jane had to walk carefully to avoid stepping in any of it. Uncle John stopped at an old fashioned heavy wooden door. He pulled out a huge iron key and fit it into the keyhole. With a turn of the key the door swung open. Uncle John stepped aside to let Jane enter first but Jane didn’t move.  
           “What is it?” asked Uncle John with concern.  
           “I’m afraid!” confessed Jane in a whisper.  
           “I know,” answered Uncle John. “I think you are a very brave young lady,” he told her. “That’s why I got you this special gift.”  
           “You did?” asked Jane as Uncle John reached beneath this cloak and brought out a small white plastic bag. “What?”  
           “This,” he said proudly while handing the bag to Jane.  
           Jane opened the bag. Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “A soda?” she said with wonder.  
           “A little liquid courage…” Uncle John added explaining. “At first I thought I might bring along a little hot chocolate, but then I remembered you were a teen and thought you might appreciate this more.  
           “Chocolate’s nice,” said Jane as she pulled the bottle, cold and sweaty, out of the bag. “But this—” Jane stopped at a loss for words. She hadn’t drunk a soda in ages. In fact, she couldn’t even _remember_ the last time she had drunk a soda or if she ever had, but she knew she liked it before she even opened the bottle. Jane quickly wiped the sweat from the bottle off her hands onto her jeans and twisted off the lid. The sweet fizzy liquid poured down her throat instantly calming her stomach and settling nervous butterflies. “Thank you so much!” Jane exclaimed in appreciation. She leaned back against the nearest wall heedless of the dirt and grime, closed her eyes and drank blissfully.  
           “There really is nothing to worry about,” assured Uncle John while she drank, “I’ll be with you the whole time so you’ll be safe. “Let me take that,” Uncle John offered when the bottle was emptied. He took the plastic bag from Jane and held it open in front of her. Jane dropped the empty bottle back into the bag. Uncle John closed the bag and tucked it under his cloak. “Shall we?” he asked genially while gesturing for Jane to go first…  
           Jane stepped forward. She stopped and waited for Uncle John to close the door. Uncle John smiled and drew besides Jane. “Keep close,” he told her and held out his elbow invitingly. Jane slipped her arm in his and the two walked forward.  
           “We’re being watched!” Jane hissed suddenly after their second step.  
           “Of course we’re being watched,” said Uncle John soothingly. “We’re unfamiliar. How many people?” he asked in a business-like tone. It was a question he had often asked Jane during their village visits.  
          “Two,” replied Jane.  
           “Where?”  
           “I don’t know,” admitted Jane. “I can’t see them but they’re must be near!”  
           “Could it be the two up ahead?” questioned Uncle John meaning the cloaked people leaning against the wall at the far corner of the street.  
           “No. They’re too far away.”  
           “Or your abilities have expanded,” observed Uncle John coolly. “Do the feelings get stronger as we near?” Jane was silent as she and Uncle John walked closer.  
           “Yes!” she answered with relief as the feelings of curiosity and greed seemed to intensify. Jane turned her head to look at the source of the feelings, two men wrapped in ragged cloaks with brown hair, black eyes and calculating faces.  
           “Don’t turn your head!” Uncle John whispered. Jane hastily turned her head forward again. “Keep it still, like I taught you!” Uncle John continued. “Move forward with pride! They are not worth your attention! Unless they follow,” Uncle John amended. “Let me know if we are followed, but don’t let them know we know. Remember, some of these people were probably involved in the death of your parents. You can’t show what you know or suspect. Neither of us can!”  
           “Yes, sir,” whispered Jane and she scooted in closer to Uncle John’s side. During the ride to London, Uncle John had given Jane all sorts of instructions on how to behave. Jane hadn’t taken them seriously, but now, when faced with suspicious strangers and very strong feelings, she struggled to remember what he’d said and kept close behind him, more out of sight.  
           Jane ignored the cobbled stones and odd clothing of the people they passed and instead concentrated on the feelings she encountered along the way. There weren’t that many people but their feelings were so strong they nearly engulfed Jane and she had difficulty keeping her own feelings separate. The realization that she might loose herself within others was terrifying.  
           Uncle John stopped.  
           Jane stopped with him. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”  
           “We’re here,” he told her.  
           “Where?” Jane asked looking about. There were several small buildings nearby with doors closed tight. Jane also saw some opened doors with signs advertising “Cauldrons,” “Insects” and “Herbs. And across the street stood a huge grimy building that might have been white once.  
           “The bank,” Uncle John explained.  
           “Oh. Where?” Jane looked for a Bank sign but saw none.  
           “The building across the street,” he told her.  
           “That?” she asked in disbelief.  
           “It’s the back,” Uncle John told Jane. “Bankers don’t leave out the front door,” he added in explanation. “If we want to meet Gottenram we must wait here.”  
           “Oh,” said Jane in a small voice suddenly very afraid. Was he the one who killed her parents? Would he recognize her? Would she him?    “Ho-how long will we have to wait?” she asked apprehensively.  
           “Not long,” answered Uncle John. “It’s nearly four.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “Banks close at three and bankers leave at four,” Uncle John informed Jane. “They tend to be very punctual. Watch the left corner of the bank,” he added.  
           So Jane watched. Somewhere in the distance a loud gong sounded: once, twice, thrice, four times. An opening appeared at the left corner of the bank. A stream of very short people moved out. All were men. They had swarthy faces with pointy beards and wore bright coloured suits.  
           “Tell me if you see him …” instructed Uncle John.  
           Jane nodded wordlessly. Her fear increased as the short people neared. With difficulty, Jane ignored the arrogance, disdain and hatred she felt from the group—not just one person, it seemed to be all, even though not a single man actually looked directly at her. A cluster of men walked brought up the rear of the group. “There!” Jane whispered excitedly. “In the middle!” Even from a distance, Jane could see that familiar upwards turn of a sneer in Gottenram’s lips and the coldness of his eyes.  
           “Wait here,” said Uncle John. He stepped confidently forward and through the group of men until he was in directly front of the man in the middle. “Excuse me,” said Uncle John politely while looking down at Gottenram, “but do you happen to have the time?”  
           “No!” said Gottenram without stopping while continuing to walk forward moving smoothly around Uncle John.  
           Suddenly Gottenram stopped. He turned and looked up at Uncle John. _Recognition!_ Jane felt recognition along with such intense loathing, hatred and malice that she could barely keep standing.  
           “Get out of there!” she screamed to Uncle John. “He _knows!”_ Jane’s knees weakened uncontrollably and she sank to the ground in absolute terror…

**********

          Jane had no idea how they got out of there alive. She was so filled with terror and blinded by pure hatred she had been unable to move on her own. Only later did Jane vaguely remember loud banging sounds, the smell of smoke and a grip on her upper arm pulling her up along with indescribable wrenching and squeezing and pulling that ended with an abrupt cessation of the malice and pure hatred leaving behind absolute terror. When Jane made it to her feet she felt violently ill and heaved up the soda she had enjoyed only minutes earlier along with all the food she had eaten for lunch.  
           “It’s OK,” murmured Uncle John in her ear and he urged Jane forward.  
           “He knows! He knows!” Jane sobbed over and over again as Uncle John guided her down the sewage-smelling alley and into their auto. “How did he know?” she questioned as Uncle John pulled a strap over her shoulders.  
           “I don’t know,” he answered as he clicked the seatbelt into place.  
           “I was disguised!” Jane moaned. “You said he wouldn’t recognize me but he did!” she accused! “He wants us dead!” Jane informed Uncle John. “What’ll we do?”  
           “We go back home, figure out what happened and then we return!” said Uncle John with determination.  
           “No!” cried Jane as she curled up tightly in her seat. “They’ll kill us!” She never wanted to go back, ever!  
           “They’ll try,” agreed Uncle John. “But they’ll fail! We’re better and they … will … regret this!”

**********

          Harry Potter strolled casually down Diagon Alley with his wife Ginny. He and Ginny had finished a leisurely meal with George and were now on their way to the Leaky Cauldron and the outside streets where they could get a taxi for home. The hour was late, the stores closed and candle-lit lanterns illuminated the streets. Few people were out and about, a distinct contrast to the daytime hustle and bustle. It was tempting to become a total recluse with that memory charm out there, but if he did that, any time Harry was observed out of the house would take on more meaning than he wished. With luck, everything would be over soon. If they could just keep up the illusion of ignorance until then…  
           Gradually, Harry became aware of the sensation of being watched: prickly hairs on the back of his neck, shadows that moved a little too fast, noises that didn’t belong… At first, Harry thought it might be Sir, but then realized that Sir had was not one to let his presence be known… It had to be somebody else. Drawing his wand, Harry swiftly turned to face the watcher.  
           To his surprise, Harry saw Griphook standing behind him. Griphook turned and walked swiftly away from Harry. Then he stopped some 8 meters away, within sight but out of reach, turned and stared wordlessly at Harry.  
           Without knowing why, Harry guessed Griphook wanted Harry to follow him. Harry considered the situation. Was this some sort of trap? Would Sir take on the shape of a Goblin? Harry doubted it. Surely such a disguise would be beneath Sir. So what was going on? Griphook was a goblin and for the most part, Goblins could not be trusted, and Harry really didn’t like Griphook. On the other hand, the behavior was so unusual it had to mean something.  
           “Wait here,” he instructed Ginny and warily walked up towards Griphook. Griphook waited until Harry began moving and then turned down a narrow footpath stopping again several meters away but still in sight turning again to stare expectantly at Harry. Harry continued walking towards Griphook determined to stop and return to Ginny if Griphook continued the “catch-up” game any further.  
           But Griphook did not move again permitting Harry to draw close. Harry could barely see Griphook’s face obscured as it was in the shadows. “What is it?” questioned Harry, his wand still out alert for possible traps.  
           “You did not speak when you could have,” said Griphook. “I shall speak when I should not.” Harry waited. What was this about? “A Blood Bounty has been set on your cousin,” Griphook announced.  
           Harry blinked in surprise. _“Cousin?”_ “Holly?” he questioned aloud in disbelief. “You know Holly?” But Griphook was gone. “Wait!” called out Harry to the darkness. “What’s this about?” There was no answer. Harry reluctantly backed away from the shadowy spot and then turned to rejoin Ginny.  
           “Did you want more _holly_ branches for decorations _about_ the house?” questioned Ginny rather loudly.  
           “What?” asked Harry blankly. “Oh, yeah, more holly about the house…” Harry had promised himself to never mention Holly’s name in public, never reveal he _knew_ and at the first opportunity what had happened? But it had been so unexpected. Griphook and Holly? If Sir had been listening in all could be lost. If he wasn’t, how had Griphook known about Holly? Was it possible Sir’s memory charm didn’t work on Goblins? Or did Griphook, like Kreacher, not read the _Prophet?_ Sir may have kept the _wizard_ community ignorant of his activities, but certainly not the _magical_ one. Could Harry use that knowledge in some way against Sir should this plan fail? What else did Griphook know? What was a “Blood Bounty?” “I know it’s too late to get more holly tonight,” Harry added loudly as he returned to Ginny’s side. “But I could find some tomorrow…”  
           “Of course,” agreed Ginny. And the two continued walking to the Leaky Cauldron. There would be time for questions and answers later where it was more private.

**********

           “Eat some,” encouraged Uncle John while holding a spoon of broth in front of Jane’s lips.  
           “No!” Jane refused yet again while turning her head away. “I’ll just spit it up!” Which was what Jane had done to anything else she had managed to force down her throat since that visit to the bank. Her stomach was so tied in knots that Jane doubted she could ever eat again!  
           “But you must eat something!” insisted Uncle John.  
           “No,” Jane argued. “I must _die!”_ Some of the feelings of terror had receded to a more manageable level leaving Jane with so strong a sense of self-hatred and loathing that only death would suffice.  
           Uncle John withdrew the spoon and regarded Jane thoughtfully. “Wait here,” he told her. He stood and withdrew from Jane’s sight. Jane used the time to pull more clothing off the hangers trying to hide her shaking body and curled herself up into a smaller ball within the wardrobe closet where she hid—the wide open spaces within Uncle John’s cottage seemed far too exposed and dangerous to Jane.  
           “Try this,” came Uncle John’s voice and a new spoon was thrust under Jane’s nose.  
           Jane twisted her head away. “No!” she insisted. “I told you, I can’t eat!”  
           “It’s _medicine,_ not food!” persisted Uncle John. “Something to calm your nerves… Come on,” he wheedled. “Just one spoonful and then I’ll let you alone…”  
           “I’ll spit it up!” Jane insisted.  
           “Then I won’t make you try again, I promise,” replied Uncle John firmly.  
           Jane reluctantly opened her mouth. Uncle John slipped the spoon between her lips. Jane forced herself to swallow the liquid in her mouth. It had a tangy lemony taste unlike any medicine she had ever tasted before and seemed to go down her throat easily. A warm tingly sensation spread throughout her body.  
           “Well?” questioned Uncle John. “Do you feel like spitting it up?”  
           “No,” admitted Jane with surprise. The knots in her stomach did seem to be loosening up.  
           “Good. Then it’s helping,” concluded Uncle John with satisfaction. “I knew it would.” Then Uncle John brushed away the clothes and Jane tensed until she felt a warm blanket drape over her body. “I’m not trying to take you away,” Uncle John said reassuringly as he pulled Jane’s tightly curled body away from the closet edge and tucked the blanket snugly around her. “It’s just a pillow, so you’ll be more comfortable,” murmured Uncle John while he pushed something soft between Jane’s head and the wall. “Why don’t you close your eyes and try to get some sleep,” he suggested. “Things will be better when you wake. I promise.” Uncle John closed the wardrobe door leaving Jane in total darkness. “I’ll be sitting right outside all night making sure you’re safe,” he added from the other side dashing Jane’s thoughts of scurrying out of the closet, using the chair to break the window, crawling out and throwing herself over the edge of the cliff just beyond.  
           Jane had already tried to jump once that day; she had lurched immediately out of the auto upon their arrival and had headed straight for the cliff with its seductive edge and waters far below. Unfortunately, Jane had tripped and fallen before she reached the edge; Uncle John caught up with her and had physically dragged Jane, kicking and screaming, into the cottage. Whereupon Jane discovered all the doors and windows securely locked and would not open! Even the drawers with the knives stayed resolutely closed! At that point Jane succumbed to her paranoia and sought the safest place she could find eventually hiding in the wardrobe closet. The bathroom would have been better with the razor blades and its tub that could have been filled full with water… But that door wouldn’t open either…  
           Jane shifted her head and body more comfortably against the pillow and closed her eyes. She couldn’t imagine ever going to sleep, but if it did happen, with luck, maybe she’d never wake...

**********

          At 7:55 am., Wizard Daniel Pilkington, Solicitor, stepped up to the door to his office. It was an early hour for Ministry officials, but Daniel didn’t work for the Ministry. He liked the quiet of the morning to complete paperwork and mentally sort through bits of information accumulated from the previous days.  
           “Two days before the rescue three wizards met in your office,” said a familiar voice in his ear; Daniel could see no one nearby. “Which one mentioned house elves?”  
           “None of them,” replied Daniel promptly while keeping his head firmly pointed to the door he was unlocking. There was only one rescue that could be connected to the voice he heard. “Which you would know had you read the account of that day printed up in the _Prophet_ the next day.  Flint's account of meeting both Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy the same time in Daniel's office had been prominently featured in the Gossip section along with speculation as to what Potter wanted with a solicitor...   Daniel opened his door and stepped inside moving to one side to let another, unseen person, walk in as well.  
           “That’s assuming the account was accurate,” came Mr. Potter’s voice, now from inside Daniel’s office.  
           “It was,” assured Daniel as he closed the door. “I should know,” he added, “I was there too…” He slid his chair out away from his desk and put it across from the other chair in the room.  
           “You haven’t answered my question,” said Mr. Potter, his voice now coming from the other “empty” chair…  
           “But I have,” reminded Daniel cheerfully. “Which you would already know, if it’s truly _you._ ” Daniel was fairly certain that it was indeed an invisible Harry Potter sitting in that chair across from him. Sir may be a metamorphmangus, but Daniel doubted he would have an easy time acquiring an invisible cloak or would try to arrange a meeting with him (Daniel) while using one. “I’m more interested in learning the subject of discussion when we first met…” Daniel added; it never hurt to double-check.  
           “Well, I thought it might be concerning a need for remuneration,” began Mr. Potter suddenly appearing in the chair across from Daniel. “But you had the _gall_ to suggest she needed a second guardian…” There was no need to mention who “she” was either… Mr. Potter folded up his cloak and set it on his lap.  
           “And you gave me the impression there would be no further conversations between us…” reminded Daniel.  
           “Yes, well something came up,” said Mr. Potter leaning back in the chair. “Something I think is important…” His voice trailed off. Daniel waited. “What do you know about Blood Bounties?” Mr. Potter questioned.  
           “Blood Bounties?” Daniel asked as he closed his eyes in thought and leaned back in his chair.  
           “Yes.”  
           “It has something to do with goblins, I think,” replied Daniel after opening his eyes.  
           “Yes,” agreed Mr. Potter, “but what is it?”  
           “Can’t tell you for certain,” replied Daniel, “but I think it’s a murder contract…”  
           “Murder!” repeated Mr. Potter looking very alarmed.  
           “Yes. What’s this about?”  
           “Can’t tell you until I know more myself,” Mr. Potter answered. “How does one stop it, a Blood Bounty?”  
           “I imagine one, well, uh,” Daniel faltered. He had no idea how to get it canceled. Nor did he think any of the goblins he knew would be forthcoming with that kind of information. “I should think you would know better about that than I,” answered Daniel abruptly while looking directly in Mr. Potter’s green eyes  
           “Me?”  
           “Yes. Wasn’t there a Blood Bounty out on you and your friends after the Battle at Hogwarts?”  
           “There was?” Mr. Potter looked confused.  
           “I’m sure there was,” confirmed Daniel confidently. “I remember reading something about it in the histories. Apparently the Ministry took care of it…” Daniel looked expectantly at Mr. Potter.  
           “I knew the goblins were mad about the Gringotts breakout,” he admitted thoughtfully, “and the Ministry took care of it. But I had no idea it was a Blood Bounty or anything… I, uh, have never read the histories written of that time…” Mr. Potter confessed.  
           “To be expected,” agreed Daniel easily. “I’m sure living through them was more than enough.”  
           Mr. Potter nodded his head. “Do you know anything else? It’s important.”  
           Daniel shook his head regretfully. “Afraid not. The goblins are pretty closed mouth about their affairs. But I’ll look into it and let you know if I learn anything.”  
           “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Mr. Potter stood to leave.  
           “Can you get in to see the Minister?” questioned Daniel rising also.  
           “Kingsley? I probably could…” answered Mr. Potter thoughtfully. “Why?”  
           Daniel smiled to himself—first name basis? He had no doubt Mr. Potter could visit the Minister… easily! “Ask him if it _was_ a Blood Bounty and what they did,” Daniel suggested aloud. “All the dealings were hush-hush at the time but surely Minister Shacklebolt knows what happened…  
           “I’ll do that.” Mr. Potter flipped the invisible cloak over his head vanishing from sight.  
           Daniel rose from his seat and stepped swiftly to his door. He opened it wide, pulled out a handkerchief and began to polish the doorknob.  “Good luck,” Daniel said when he felt a gentle swish of air as Mr. Potter passed by.  
           “Thanks.”

 


	18. Chapter 18

          Jane woke feeling rested and much more refreshed than she could ever remember. She stirred vaguely wondering why she was sleeping in a curled upright position. Then the memories returned. Jane leaned against the wall letting the memories wash over her trying to make sense of them. Then she set the blanket slide from her shoulders and pushed the closet door open.  
           “Good morning,” came a cheerful voice from right outside. Uncle John had apparently made good his promise to stay right outside. The closet door opened wider and Jane saw a hand just outside, obviously extended to assist. “How are you feeling?” asked Uncle John as Jane took the hand and stepped out. Sunlight streamed into the room; it was no longer morning.  
           “Fine,” answered Jane calmly.  
           “That’s good,” said Uncle John with obvious relief. “Are you hungry?”  
           “Yes, I am,” acknowledged Jane.  
           “So am I,” admitted Uncle John. “Why don’t I get us some food while you clean up and get dressed,” he suggested.  
           “O.K.,” replied Jane. She had a pressing need to use the loo and moved swiftly to the bathroom door. It opened easily for her. She looked inside with disbelief. “What happened to the bathtub?” she questioned in surprise.  
           “What bathtub?” answered Uncle John from just outside her room.  
           “The bathtub!” repeated Jane. “There was a bathtub in here.”  
           “No there wasn’t,” assured Uncle John. “I don’t like bathtubs—too many accidents can happen in them,” he informed Jane.  
           “Oh,” replied Jane in confusion. She was sure there had been a bathtub—an old fashioned one with lion paw legs but now she saw a small shower stall next to a wall of shelves filled with towels. How could she have been so mistaken?  
           Jane touched the shelves cautiously. Solid. As was the shower. There were rust stains around the drain and lime deposits on the wall. It was clear it had been there a while. One just couldn’t change from tub to shower overnight... Perhaps Jane was crazy to even think it…

**********

          Much later Jane emerged from the shower. Her hair was wrapped up in a turban on top of her head and the pancake make-up had been thoroughly scrubbed off; she felt like a new person. Jane brushed out her hair and then selected an outfit from the closet—clothes now all neatly hung (Uncle John must have returned and done that.) Jane quickly dressed and left the bedroom.  
           Uncle John was already seated at the table with a mug of steaming hot chocolate in front of him. He looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled warmly. “I was beginning to worry,” he greeted with a smile as he folded the paper and set it aside. “What took so long?”  
           “The make-up was hard to remove,” replied Jane politely as she sat down in front of the empty place setting. She piled some eggs on her plate and then added a slice of ham.  
           Uncle John handed Jane a second mug of hot chocolate and then buttered a slice of toast. He topped it with strawberry jam while Jane ate.  The two ate in silence. “I’ve been thinking about yesterday,” began Uncle John after he finished his toast. Jane felt her body tense at his words; she didn’t want to discuss the previous day. “There’s only one way he could have recognized you,” continued Uncle John. “He recognized your voice.”  
           “Voice?” questioned Jane faintly.  
           “Yes. Everything was fine before then. You must have spoken in Gottenram’s presence before, when your parents died or maybe at that _place_. You’ll be safe as long you don’t speak.”  
           That wasn’t right. Jane distinctly remembered the “recognition” feeling _before_ she had spoken. But it didn’t matter. “Oh,” said Jane noncommittally.  
           “We can make our plans now and soon as things settle down, we’ll go back and take care of Gottenram,” Uncle John spoke with grim determination.  
           “I’m not going back,” Jane announced firmly. She had done considerable thinking while in the shower.  
           “What?” questioned Uncle John in surprise. “But I just told you; it’ll be safe!”  
           “It doesn’t matter,” replied Jane. “I’m not going back.”  
           “He killed your family!” reminded Uncle John sternly.  
           “Probably,” agreed Jane calmly. The hatred she had felt was more than capable of a few murders. “But I’m not going back.  
           “Your parents!” exclaimed Uncle John. “You can’t let their murderers go free!”  
           “Frankly, I can’t remember my parents,” replied Jane coolly. “But I remember yesterday and that hatred. I don’t want to experience that ever again.”  
           “They’ll hunt you down; you must act first!”  
           “No, I don’t,” argued Jane. “I can’t remember my parents, can’t remember my life before, maybe there’s a reason for that. You said I’m remembering what I need to remember, what my mind is _capable_ of remembering while remaining _sane,”_ Jane reminded Uncle John. “Well maybe I’m not intended to remember the past. Maybe I’m only supposed to look forward so that’s what I’m going to do.”  
           “You can’t live your life like that,” Uncle John protested. “You’ll never be safe!”  
           “I’ll be safe here,” replied Jane. “You’ve told me that again and again.”  
           Uncle John snorted. “And live your life in fear?”  
           “I’m not afraid here,” replied Jane calmly.  
           “And when they come after you?”  
           “As long as I stay here they won’t know where to look,” Jane informed him.  
           “They’ll never stop looking!” he told her.  
           “Let them,” answered Jane. “Either I’m safe here or I’m not. And if I’m not, I’ll find some other place.”  
           Uncle John’s eyes narrowed. Jane could tell he was not happy with her words. “We can discuss this later,” Uncle John finally said. He stood and left the room, not quite stomping, but near enough.  
           Jane finished the food on her plate. Then she stood and cleared the table. She placed the dirty dishes in the sink and began to wash them. It was the first time she had ever washed the dishes here. It suddenly occurred to Jane that in all her time there, she had never once seen Uncle John cook or wash dishes yet there was always hot food ready at mealtimes and the dishes were always clean, until now. How odd.  
           When had Jane finished the dishes Uncle John came back in. “It’s time for our walk,” he told her.  
           “I’m not going on a walk,” Jane told him.  
           “What?”  
           “I’m not going on a walk,” Jane repeated. “The walks scare me,” she added explaining. “The people look at me and they are always scared. Then I get scared. I don’t need that.”  
           “You _dare_ defy me?” Uncle John asked in a low threatening voice.  
           Jane met his gaze squarely. “If it means enduring the suspicion and fear of more people, then yes.”  
           “Fear! Yes, they’re afraid of _you!_ That is exactly what you need to offset your experiences of yesterday.”  
           “You don’t get it!” exclaimed Jane. “Whatever they feel, _I_ feel! When they are afraid, I’m afraid too! I can’t live like that! How can you even suggest I should deliberately go somewhere and make myself feel afraid?”  
           “You are a fool!” stated Uncle John angrily. “You must train yourself to resist the feelings of others, to do what you must despite them! Your very survival depends on it!”  
           “Only if I choose to leave,” replied Jane calmly. “I’m safe here,” she reminded Uncle John, “or am I no longer safe?” she asked fixing her eyes on Uncle John’s blue eyes. _“Strange how cold they seemed; wait a minute! Hadn’t they been green like hers?”_ Jane questioned herself suddenly?  
           “You’re safe here,” conceded Uncle John, “I _think._ It’s unlikely but possible we were followed... Perhaps a walk around the area to be sure would be in order,” he suggested. “No villages,” he added reassuringly.  
           “No villages,” agreed Jane. She wanted to get out and see for herself what kind of security there was. “Let me get my jacket...”

**********

          Conner Fitzpatrick stared apprehensively at the highly polished oak door with a shiny brass knocker shaped like a griffin in front of him. It wasn’t often someone got a message to see the Headmistress at this late hour. In fact, Conner couldn’t remember it ever happening before… “You sure you don’t know what this is about?” he questioned Professor Longbottom, who had accompanied him from the dorm. He was the Gryffindor House Head.  
           “Not in the least,” the professor replied cheerfully. “But it can’t be bad; you haven’t done anything wrong!” He stopped abruptly and looked at Conner. “You haven’t, have you?” he asked worriedly.  
           “No,” assured Conner but that didn’t stop him from worrying. The professor raised the knocker and lowered it making a single “rap.”  
The door swung open. “Enter,” came the voice from within. Conner and Professor Longbottom stepped inside. Headmistress McGonagall sat formally at her desk. Mr. Potter sat comfortably in a chair next to the desk! What was he doing here? “Thank you,” said the Headmistress to Professor Longbottom. “I don’t think Mr. Fitzpatrick will be returning tonight.”  
           _“I’m not?”_ questioned Conner mentally. _“Why?”_  
           “O.K.,” answered Professor Longbottom. He looked questionably from Conner to Mr. Potter and the Headmistress as he grabbed the door to close.  
           “Uh, Neville,” said Mr. Potter suddenly.  
           “Yes?”  
           “Forget I was here, O.K.? I’ll explain later.”  
           “Right.” Professor Longbottom cheered up at the promise of an explanation. “See you!” He left the office closing the door behind him.  
           “Have a seat,” suggested Mr. Potter indicating the empty chair in front of the desk. “How are you doing?” he asked as Conner sat down.  
           “Fine, sir,” answered Conner warily. He wasn’t sure what he could or should say in front of Headmistress McGonagall. The Headmistress had chewed him out for suggesting someone named Holly was missing from the class roster. The last time he had heard from Mr. Potter had been a brief message included with a pair of socks Conner had received from Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Potter had sent a pair to Albus and Lily too. She enclosed a message wishing Conner a successful year at Hogwarts. Penned at the bottom was a note from Mr. Potter. “She is all right. Say nothing; tell no one!” That message, unlike Mrs. Potter’s, vanished soon after Conner had read it.  
           So Conner had done as requested—until he found Rose Weasley reading the _Prophet_ upside-down one day. “What are you doing?” he asked Rose.  
           “Reading it upside down, duhh,” replied Rose in her usual know-it-all voice.  
           “I can see that,” replied Conner. “But why?”  
           “All the Ravenclaws are doing it,” Rose replied while returning her attention to the _Prophet._ “I want to know why… It’s much harder to read than I expected,” she muttered in annoyance. “There’s all this scribbling…. Who’s Holly?” she asked suddenly.  
           Conner froze. So that’s how it was done!!! “Holly is someone you should not mention, ever!” he whispered to Rose.  
           “Huh? Why?” she asked looking up from her paper clearly confused.  
           “Because it’s dangerous for her and you.”  
           “Yeah, right,” said Rose in obvious disbelief. “So how do you know?”  
           “I don’t read the _Prophet!”_ Conner retorted. “Seriously!” Conner added earnestly. “You’re not supposed to know about her so don’t say a word to anybody!”  
           “Why?”  
           “Because that’s what Professor Lovegood says,” replied Conner.  
           “What?” Rose asked looking at Conner with surprise.  
           “Talk to her if you have any questions,” he told Rose. “But do it privately...”  
           Two weeks later Rose sidled up to Conner. “She’s my cousin!” she hissed angrily! “How can you just stand by silently when she could be in trouble?”  
           “Because that’s what Mr. Potter told me to do!” Conner whispered back.  
           “Huh? Uncle Harry?” Rose asked in disbelief. “When did he write you?”  
           “First of the school year,” retorted Conner, “while you and Albus were telling me I was crazed to think there was anyone named Holly, let alone a cousin… Lookit,” Conner added, “I don’t know what’s going on but I trust your uncle. If he says it’s better for Holly that we keep quiet then that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, if anyone should be squawking it’s the Hufflepuffs; she’s one of theirs, you know…”  
           “Yeah, like they can say anything with that memory charm slamming them in the face every day,” retorted Rose sarcastically.  
           “You’ve been watching the wrong people,” replied Conner. “The Hufflepuffs haven’t read a paper for over a month!”

**********

          “I asked you here today to see if you would be willing to help with some, ah, unfinished business,” began Mr. Potter bringing Conner’s mind back to the present.  
           “What sort of unfinished business?” questioned Conner. He could think of no unfinished business he had with Mr. Potter.  
           “Headmistress McGonagall has already agreed,” Mr. Potter continued as if Conner hadn’t spoken, “as have your parents.” Mr. Potter pulled out a piece of folded paper and handed it to Conner.  
          Conner unfolded the paper and stared at the familiar handwriting within in disbelief. It was a simple statement of consent signed by both his parents authorizing Conner to spend a “few” days with Mr. Potter. There were no details as to why. Mr. Potter had contacted his parents! When? Why hadn’t they said anything?  
           “But the final decision is up to you,” Mr. Potter finished.  
           “What’s this about?” questioned Conner. “What sort of _unfinished_ business?” he repeated.  
           “It has to do with someone who calls himself … _Sir.”_  
           Conner stiffened. For over a year now that name had given him nightmares, rather, his experience with Sir still gave him nightmares. Sir had once brutally assaulted Conner leaving him for dead. It had been done as a "training” exercise for Holly. Conner had felt physically ill after it occurred to him that only _Sir_ (whose name, like Holly’s, nobody else seemed to remember) would be so bold as to try to erase Holly from everyone’s mind… Without Harry Potter’s assurances about Holly, Conner would have never remained at Hogwarts.  
           “What do you want me to do?” questioned Conner willing to do just about anything to get rid of Sir.  
           “I’m, ah, not exactly sure,” replied Mr. Potter uncomfortably. “I just know that they’re doing something about Sir soon and they’d like your help, if you’re willing…”  
           “Count me in!”

**********

          “Good night,” said Uncle John gently while sitting in the chair next to Jane’s bed. “Sweet dreams.” True to his word, Uncle John had not taken Jane to any villages on their afternoon/evening walk. Instead, he had led Jane extensively around the cottage following twisty trails Jane didn’t even known existed. By the time Uncle John headed back to the welcoming lights of the cottage Jane was so exhausted she could barely stand. Too tired to eat, Uncle John had to insist Jane eat the bowl of stew and finish the sweaty cold glass of milk before permitting her to sleep.  
           “Good night,” said Jane leaning her head back on her pillow. Uncle John hadn’t said anything, but Jane was certain he was still angry about her decision to not return to the bank or Gottenram, but she’d face that later. Jane had done more thinking while they were walking… It occurred to her that while Uncle John spoke lovingly of his “dear Julianna” there were no pictures of her anywhere in the cottage (or of him, for that matter) nor had he apparently visited or contacted his “beloved” sister for at least fifteen years… (having known nothing about Jane…) Was his quest against her murderers an act of “love” or something else? Jane shut her eyes resolving to consider Uncle John’s motives more tomorrow. Soon she was fast asleep.

**********

          Jane dreamed. It was dark. The stars shone brightly overhead and she was running. Branches tore at her whipping her face and body. She ran and ran until lack of breath forced her to stop. “No!” whispered a terrified voice next to her. “You must keep moving!” So Jane forced her weary legs to keep going. On and on Jane ran despite the pain urged ever forward by the voice of the unseen person next to her… While Jane ran a low howl sounded. Then more becoming a chorus of barking that sounded louder and louder. “No!” moaned the voice. “We’re lost!”  
           Jane woke with a start. Her heart was pounding! In the distance Jane heard a long mournful howl… They had been found! She had to get away! Jane slipped out of her bed and ran to the window. Locked! _“Nooooo!”_ Jane pounded on the windowpane in a futile effort to make it break. Then she grabbed the chair by the back and heaved it at the window. It bounced harmlessly off.  
           “Jane?” came Uncle John’s voice from outside. “Are you all right?”  
           Jane could hear dogs barking now! “Fine,” lied Jane aloud certain now that Uncle John had helped them. How else could they have been found? It wasn’t her doing. “Just making sure the windows are secure…” Jane ran to the door and gripped the doorknob. She tried to twist it but it wouldn’t budge! He’d locked her in! The barking dogs sounded ever so loud and closer than before! _“Noooo!”_ Certain they were coming any minute, Jane looked desperately around her room for a place to hide, weapons, anything! The chair wouldn’t break or come apart! Finally, Jane took a hanger from the wardrobe closet, unbent it, and folded it in half to make two prongs. Then she took it and the chair into the loo and shut the door. She wedged the chair tightly up against the doorknob. Clutching the hanger prongs tightly Jane retreated into the shower stall. Trembling violently, Jane closed the door, crouched in in the corner and waited for the inevitable.

**********

          The inevitable never came. Jane waited and shivered and waited some more. Eventually exhaustion won out; Jane leaned her head against the shower wall and closed her eyes, just for a bit. Soon she was fast asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

          The inevitable never came. Jane waited and shivered and waited some more. Eventually exhaustion won out; Jane leaned her head against the shower wall and closed her eyes, just for a bit. Soon she was fast asleep.

**********

          Jane dreamed again. No, it wasn’t quite a dream; it was a kaleidoscope of images flitting though her mind so fast they left her breathless. Jane woke gasping for air. Unlike a dream, the images did not stop. People, places and things appeared through her head with dizzying speed. Finally, the images slowed…

 _She stared in disbelief at the three people slumped on the floor and the stranger standing victoriously between them. Sir!!! She shut the door in his face and ran down the narrow aisle while drawing a slender stick from a band at her waist. “Winky!” she called out frantically. A small creature in a snowy white pillowcase and a tomato red nose instantly appeared running at her side. “Protect my family!” she ordered as she ran, “Tell no one; trust no one, and don’t ever come if I call! Now, go!” The creature vanished. Pointing the stick forward she shouted “Aperire!” The pungent smell of eucalyptus filled her nostrils and the door at the end of the car slid open. Just as she reached the opening, the door slid shut in front of her!_  
_“They’re dead!” whispered a jubilant voice in her ear. Her body was twisted around as the stick was jerked from her fingers. “I killed them! It’s just you and me now!” Filled with terror, she rammed her left fist into his chest as hard as possible, ducked under and ran the other way… Just as she reached the other end of the car, he materialized in front of her!_  
_“Why do you run?” he questioned as she skidded to a stop. “There is nowhere for you to go!”_  
_She turned the other direction stopping at the nearest compartment. Her desperate fingers fumbled at the handle._  
_“Do you seek to hide?” his mocking voice rang out from behind her._  
_She opened the door and he was in front of her!_  
_“There is no place for you to hide!” he told her. She slammed the door closed and ran for the next one._  
_“He’s playing with me!” a part of her mind told herself while she frantically tried to get the door open. “Like a cat with a mouse! What does he want? To give up? I can’t give up! I won’t!”_  
_Suddenly the door slid open without her help! The scent of eucalyptus wafted out and he stood on the other side holding her stick just tantalizing out of reach. “Serviceable, but smelly,” he said critically while looking at the stick. “Should I break it like I did your others? It’s not as if you’ll be needing it any more…”_  
_She backed up in horror bumping into the wall; her fingers felt the latch of the door behind. What now? Where could she turn; what could she do? She needed time to think!_  
_Suddenly that calm superior expression turned to a howl of surprise and she felt needle-like pain shoot through her leg! She ignored the pain and swiftly opened the door behind her and stepped in. The pain was not hers; that was his! Her cat had just clawed him! They didn’t allow pets loose on trains and Sasha would not be caged so she had placed a disallusionment spell on Sasha keeping her free and hidden from train officials, and him...._  
_Now what? There was only one other way out—the window. There! On the wall! A fire extinguisher! She grabbed the extinguisher and heaved it against the window. It shattered upon impact. Using the extinguisher, she smashed the shard edges making a hole large enough to get through. She put her head and shoulders through the opening without hesitation. Suddenly she felt herself pulled back out of the window, her back slammed against the wall next to it with her feet dangling in the air helplessly. “There is no escape for you out there!” he said with fury. “And no one to help you! YOU … ARE … MINE!!!”_  
_Her hands stretched out towards him but he was too far back and couldn’t be reached. Abruptly she dropped landing on the floor in a heap. Her beaded braids swung down covering her face. Beads! BEADS!!!_  
_“Do you understand?” he questioned as her hand tugged at one of her braids—the bead came off in her fingers. The train lurched and jolted. She flung the bead at the floor in front of him! There was a loud bang, a flash of fire, and smoke! Ignoring the stench and his cry of surprise, she grabbed the windowsill, pulled herself through the window again and let herself fall. A heavy weight landed on top as she fell-Sasha. Suddenly her body convulsed, filled with mind-splitting pain and then there was darkness._

**********

 _“Is she all right?” came the concerned voice of Cousin Harry._  
_“She should be,” answered Paige confidently._  
_“Are you all right?” he asked._  
_“Yes, fine,” lied Paige. But she wasn’t, not at all. For Holly Wycliff felt Paige’s emotions for the very first time! The emotions were dark and filled with pain._  
_“We should not have asked you to do this,” he said worriedly._  
_“It had to be done,” Paige replied calmly. Her emotions suddenly winked off as she spoke. “Or he would have known it was a trap.”_  
_“But we should have asked someone else…”_  
_“Who?” she asked practically. “You? You haven’t the will or intent necessary for such a spell. Anyone else would take considerable explanation… Besides, it’s done now.” Holly opened her eyes and saw Paige bend down and pick up her wand from the floor. Holly did not remember seeing or hearing it fall but then that Confringo Communicado Curse had ripped through her body like a Cruciatus Curse leaving her oblivious to anything while it happened..._  
_“It’s almost midnight,” Paige said calmly. “You sure you want to go through with this?” she asked Holly._  
_“Yes,” Holly replied. Or, rather that’s what she tried to say. What came out sounded more like “Wlvrtk.” Cousin Harry winced visibly at the word but said nothing. It was audible proof that the spell Paige had just cast actually worked. Holly knew the Hufflepuffs had done considerable digging through old dusty records, many restricted from public access, to find it._  
_Paige took the response as consent. She turned to her potions bag and drew out a tiny lime green bottle. “I can only give you 29 days,” she said to Holly informatively as she measured out the dose. “Any more and the memory loss would become permanent…” She held the spoon carefully and checked the time again. “Not yet,” she murmured._  
_“Must it be at midnight?” complained Cousin Harry. They had already discussed the reason why but Holly could tell he was terribly worried and guessed asking questions helped provide the reassurances he needed._  
_“The effect of returning memories is unknown,” Paige informed him coolly. “Returning them at midnight will give her time to adjust, hopefully in private.”_  
_“And then we will be waiting…” he assured Holly._  
_Holly nodded, or tried to; it came out like a spastic jerk of the left arm. Cousin Harry winced again._  
_“Close your eyes,” instructed Paige. Holly closed them. “Open your mouth,” Paige added in a soothing tone. “You’re going to go to sleep,” she informed as she slipped the potion onto Holly’s tongue. “And when you wake, you shall again be Jane Smith...”_

**********

          Jane Smith/Holly Wycliff leaned against the shower wall and began to cry. She was whole again. The sensation was both a welcome relief and fearful uncharted territory.  
           When the tears finally dried Holly spent time reviewing her memories as “Jane” putting them into perspective. The lone cottage on the cliff had been surrounded by wards; anti-Muggle ones and ones to keep her in—obviously removed or “turned off” when they went on “walks.” “Jane” had felt their effects and behaved accordingly; Holly remembered the effects and now recognized them for what they were. Gottenram was a goblin! And they had definitely Apparated out of the back streets of Diagon Alley. What else did she know or suspect? Holly closed her eyes in thought and when her thoughts ran out she eventually drifted off to sleep…  
           Holly dreamed. The dogs howled and she ran. But no matter how fast she ran, the howling dogs seemed to get nearer and nearer. “Hurry!” the voice of someone near her kept urging. Holly felt so tired; her exhausted legs collapsed under her. A hand gripped her under the arm and pulled her up; “You’ve got to keep going!” the voice insisted while dragging her along. “They’ll get you if you don’t!” Suddenly, something burst through the brush ahead of them stopping Holly in her tracks. She could just barely see it by the moonlight—human shaped, but huge and hairy with a snarling wolf-like face! Walking into view to stand next to it was—Gottenram! His proud Imperius face looked victoriously at Holly. “Take her!” he ordered. Holly woke with a start shaking from head to toe. That was no memory of hers! How _dare_ he!  
           Holly rose and dressed swiftly getting madder by the minute. When she had finished, Holly marched into the kitchen where she knew _he_ would be waiting...  
           “Good morning,” greeted “Uncle John” pleasantly. But he couldn’t be her uncle knowing what she now knew. “How was your night?”  
           “How _dare_ you ask me what kind of a night I had when you already know the answer!” Holly stormed.  
           “Uncle John” smiled. “It would seem your memory has returned,” he observed pleasantly.  
           “Every night you said “sweet dreams,” all the while knowing the kind of dreams you intended to send me! How could you?!!” Holly added angrily.  
           “I am pleased at its return,” continued “Uncle John.” “We can both get a decent night’s sleep again...”  
           “And how did you expect me to practice my “abilities” while worrying why everyone was so afraid of me?” continued Holly in a nonstop rant.  
           “Pretending to be Muggle all the time _was_ rather annoying…” said “Uncle John” while completely ignoring Holly’s tirade.  
           “And what was the idea of setting all those goblins on me?” Holly demanded.  
           “Now we can resume your training from where we left off last year instead of starting from scratch…”  
           “Do you have any idea of what those 15 angry minds did to me? How close I came to loosing it?“  
           “We can start with your deception detection abilities, perhaps a visit to a prison—they always _lie_ there. Wait a minute, 15 angry minds?” questioned “Uncle John” suddenly. “Are you certain??”  
           “Yes, of course I’m certain!” stormed Holly. “And they were murderous!”  
           “Well that explains a lot. I should have thought to ask you about numbers sooner,” he added speculatively. “See how much better you are now that you have your memory to interpret things properly…”  
           “Interpret things! That’s all you have to say about what happened? I nearly died!”  
           “You didn’t,” he reminded her. “I made certain.”  
          “Thanks a bunch!” retorted Holly sarcastically. “I didn’t even know who you were, had no reason to fear you and still you spent your time scaring me! How sadistic can you get? Why didn’t you use a _carrot_ instead of a stick?”  
           “I did!” replied Sir calmly. “I gave you a _moral_ reason to cooperate _willingly_ instead of just orders and I even fed you memories to reinforce it—not an easy thing to do when starting with an empty mind; a stick would have been easier and much more efficient. But now that your memories have returned, I shall remind you of a few things. Your family _is_ dead; there is no one to order “fetch.” You know that, of course, you saw their bodies and they would have “fetched” you long ago were such a thing possible. There will be no “rescue;” you … are … _mine!”_ You shall cooperate fully in all that I demand.”  
           “I will not!” denied Holly instinctively. “You’re horrible!”  
           “Of course you will,” replied Sir in a reasonable tone. “All I have to do is pull some clueless Muggle from off the street, cast a _Cruciatus Curse_ and you’ll cave instantly. You know you will. Why not acknowledge it, cooperate in the first place and save the Muggle and yourself all that unnecessary pain?”  
           Holly stared at him with speechless horror.  
           “The question becomes,” added Sir confidently while noting the expression on Holly’s face, “Will you cooperate and live here?” he gestured with his hand to the room around him. “Or do you intend to fight the inevitable and live,” he waived the same hand plunging the room in darkness, “here?”  
           No, it wasn’t totally dark, but nearly dark. When her eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, Holly saw “Sir” instead of “Uncle John” seated casually in front of her. He wore wizard robes and held his wand enticingly in front of her. The entire cottage had transformed into familiar hated gray ceiling and walls with no widows. The table was gray; a gray bowl filled with gray stuff sat on it with a nearly invisible gray spoon at its side!  
           The world seemed to spin and Holly gulped forcing down the wave of nausea that flooded over her.  
           Sir noted her expression and smiled. “The choice is yours,” he told her.  
           “If you please, S-Sir,” Holly finally forced out, unable to keep the tremor from her voice, “I’d r-rather t-the c-cottage, S-Sir…” Scary how easily the words slipped out, spurred by his physical presence and familiarity of the room. Holly didn’t think she could bear that room again, ever.  
           Sir’s smile widened. He waived his wand and Holly blinked in the sudden flood of daylight; the familiar cottage surroundings returned; the hated gray had vanished. Holly’s whole body seemed to sag in relief.  
           “And now that that is settled,” Sir continued smoothly, “there are a few other matters to go over. The doors and windows will not open, of course, nor will the glass break.”  
           “You don’t seem surprised, Sir. My remembering, Sir,” observed Holly carefully. She wanted answers to fill the gaps in her mind. That would not happen if she angered him.  
           “Of course not,” replied Sir confidently. “The memories of your self-induced amnesia were bound to return eventually,” replied Sir easily, “but as I was saying, the only way out is to … Apparate. Which you cannot do.” There was this infuriatingly smug smile on Sir’s face. “You were going to have lessons as a fifteenth birthday present, weren’t you?” he added knowingly, “too bad you missed it.”  
           Holly drew in a breath. “How did you know about that?” she asked.  
           “I have sources everywhere,” Sir informed Holly firmly. “The point is there is no escape; not now, not ever. Further, I have made sure no one will ever miss you so you can forget any outside efforts at rescue… I’m told that was a lovely patronus,” Sir told Holly approvingly. “Perhaps I’ll let you show it to me some time, but there will be no one outside waiting to see it should you manage to cast another one without my permission, let alone recognize its significance. I’ll let the windows remain as long as you behave,” Sir added expansively. “This cottage is, of course, unplottable, so no one you may see outside will see you in return.”  
           “T-thank you, Sir,” whispered Holly with undisguised relief, the thought of that gray windowless room still fresh in her mind. “How, did you find us, Sir, on the train, Sir?” she asked cautiously.  
           “I _always_ know where you are,” replied Sir imperiously. “You can’t hide or escape from me ever! That little adventure at Meadowsgate,” he grimaced at the word Meadowsgate, “should be sufficient proof of that. Your complete compliance and total cooperation in all matters is now expected,” he continued with confidence. “All the rules of before are now in place again and should you come up with some, creative way to avoid your responsibilities making you useless to me Missy,” an obvious reference to Holly’s mental “escape” with Pettigrew’s assistance last year, “I shall deliver you into the hands of the goblins.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “You’ve felt their anger,” Sir continued calmly. “They’ll tear you apart! And if you are already dead, a suicide, perhaps, then I’ll see to it that the goblins get the blame.”  
           Holly looked at him in confusion. “What?”  
           Sir noted her look and smiled benignly. “Being a _Mudblood,_ you’re fairly dense so I shall explain further. It occurs to me that should the “darling” of the wizard community, also cousin and ward of the famous Harry Potter, be found _dead_ at the hands of the goblins, the public outcry against goblins could be so great that the wizard community might be motivated to eliminate every goblin in sight.”  
           “You’re talking g-genocide,” whispered Holly in disbelief.  
           “Actually, it is merely ridding us of the unnecessary filth that invades our world,” replied Sir callously. “A bleeding heart such as you might think otherwise which is why I bring it to your attention. Done properly, I believe I could even persuade a grieving Harry Potter, consumed with personal guilt at failing to protect you, to lead the hunt!”  
           “No!” whispered Holly in horror.  
           “Rather poetic, I think,” continued Sir pleasantly, “considering _he_ is the reason they’re still around.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “The Ministry chose to deal with the goblin filth for your cousin’s life and in doing so gave away all we had gained through the Dark Lord while missing the perfect opportunity to rid ourselves of goblins for good!”  
           “What?”  
           “One of the goblin filth would have eventually killed Potter and the wizard community would have banded together and destroyed all of them in their outrage.”  
           Holly stared. “Kill Cousin Harry?” she whispered in disbelief. “But why?”  
           “Because that is the nature of goblins,” said Sir firmly. He shifted in his seat. “At the moment I have no interest in cleansing the world of goblin filth,” he assured Holly. Then his eyes narrowed, “unless you force me to reconsider. I leave it to you to weigh the things I insist you do against the lives of whole goblin community should I loose interest in you…”  
           Holly swayed and closed her eyes as she tried to take in the enormity of his threat. She drew in a deep breath. “No,” she answered quietly. “No one will mourn my death, Sir,” she corrected. “No one looks for me, not any more, Sir, you s-said so.”  
           Sir threw back his head and laughed. “So I did,” he agreed with amusement. “And it’s true,” he assured Holly. “But I can change that easily should the need arise. As easily as I got all the villagers to think you were a homicidal maniac escaped from a mental facility… Your grandparents even called the “tip” line,” Sir added informatively.  
           Holly felt her heart lurch with the news. Was it possible?  
           “Wanted to know if it could be you… Seems they thought you were missing…”  
           “No!” whispered Holly in disbelief. They _promised_ they’d keep her family safe… Had Sir found them anyway?  
           “Ugly skinny old lady in a flowered dress and a fat old man…” his voice trailed off while watching Holly closely.  
           Holly’s stomach sank and her guts twisted painfully at his words. He could have seen grandmum at the station talking to Cousin Harry, but grandfather? How else would Sir know his physical description? “Don’t hurt them!” Holly whispered involuntarily. How could she go on knowing her family was at risk?  
           Sir smiled and fixed his blue eyes on Holly. “If you’re good,” he said enticingly. “Perhaps I shall arrange a visit…”  
           Sir had lied before, perhaps he was lying this time too… If only there were some way to be sure… Holly took a deep breath. “Grandfather Mike has a heart condition,” she began in a waivery voice. “P-please…”  
           “Oh I doubt that,” said Sir smugly. “I _always_ know when you lie. And it’s not _Mike_ but _Vernon,_ like your brother, as you well know…”  
           Holly closed her eyes. Grandfather’s name was Vernon, but nobody called him that. Did Sir know his current name? Dare she ask? There were probably ways Sir could have gotten this kind of information without actually talking to him; he could have learned it when he had captured the family last spring… Then again… What should she do? “D-don’t hurt them,” she pleaded softly.  
           “That is totally up to you,” said Sir imperiously. “Now, sit down and eat your breakfast. While you’re eating, you can tell me what else you remember about our walks and Diagon Alley, now that you can remember them as Holly.” He gestured to the table and the banquet of food waiting on it.  
           Holly closed her eyes and took another deep breath. Then she opened them and looked directly at Sir, into that hatefully smug face. “No,” she said in a calm voice while trying to ignore the sudden fear that gripped her and the bile that rose to her throat. “I will not tell you what else I remember about our walks and Diagon Alley. I will not become your _tool.”_ Had she just condemned her grandparents to death? She hoped not.  
           Sir’s cold blue eyes hardened. “I thought we had this settled,” he said coldly and his arm waived. Windows and white paint vanished and the room again turned dark and gray.  
           Holly could feel her body shiver in the darkness. “I said I would much r-rather the cottage,” corrected Holly trying to keep the fear out of her voice. “And y-yes, I probably _would_ cave in the first time you tortured some Muggle off the street,” she agreed. “But I will _not_ be your tool, not now, not ever again, _Sir.”_  
           “That is not an option,” replied Sir firmly. He pointed his finger in front of Holly and a second chair materialized out of the floor in front of her. “Now, _eat!”_ Holly did not answer but it took all her will to not sit down and eat. “What?” Sir asked suddenly. “Did you think to use that house elf to escape?” he questioned. “Didn’t you read that manual I sent you?”  
           Holly shivered. He had sent a manual? It must have been one of those things Albus had snatched and sent to Cousin Harry without sharing with Holly first… “No,” she said in a small voice.  
           “Then I can see why you might think of the house elf as a source of escape. The house elf obeys _only_ the commands of its master,” Sir informed Holly. “Which is not you—you’re too young. Once its master dies (and I assure you your parents are dead), control of the elf falls on the nearest descendant of _age_. That leaves you out—until you turn age seventeen! Your grandparents could order it, if they were willed the elf, but no such will was made or you would have already been “fetched.” That means it will not come at your command until you reach age seventeen… In the meantime you shall be staying with me—so _eat!”_  
           Holly did not move. **“Winky!”** she called out instead.  
           “And now I have the elf!” said Sir grimly. “The one name I could not order you to use without knowing it first and a name you could not remember as Jane,” he told Holly, not that Holly could hear. The fear and determination in her face had been replaced by a soft smile and a vacant look of calmness. “Of course your xenophobic father would order it to obey you despite your age and you shall order it to obey me,” Sir continued more to himself than her.  
           A loud _crack_ sounded from behind him. Sir did not need to look to know its cause. “Bring me my brother Vernon,” Holly ordered serenely and a second _crack_ sounded signaling the elf’s departure.  
           Ordinarily, a brother could countermand the order, but not a _dead_ brother. “A rather grizzly visit,” Sir told Holly aloud, “but one that should drive home the honesty of my words and your current position. As you are now an orphan, it will be an easy matter to become your legal guardian _outside_ Hogwarts for the next two years, and your appearance in court while under the effects of the _Confringo Communicado Curse_ will insure a judgment of incompetency and my permanent guardianship of you…” Holly did not blink nor did her vacant pleasant expression change at the news.  
           A third _crack_ sounded behind him indicating the house elf’s, Winky’s, return. Sir mentally steeled himself for the inevitable stench of a dead body.  
           There was a moment of silence then, “Holly, are you O.K.?”

**********

           Sir twisted around in surprise.  
           _“Expelliarmus!”_ shouted Roland DeWitt aiming his wand at Sir’s wand. The wand flew up and outward while Rupert Shunpike slammed into Sir knocking him from the chair to the floor.

 _“Now remember, the next time I call your name, you must arrive behind anyone else in the room,” Holly told Winky. “Can you do that?”_  
_The house elf nodded her head vigorously. “Yes Miss,” she answered in her high-pitched voice._  
_“And you must bring with you Roland and Rupert; that’s an order! Can you do that?”_  
_“Yes, miss!” assured Winky._  
_“Show me!”_  
_In response, Winky immediately grabbed Roland and Rupert’s wrists and Apparated. They materialized right behind Harry Potter, who also sat in the room. Mr. Potter hovered protectively around Holly clearly uncomfortable with the whole plan. It was risky and a large part of it was up to Holly; it also didn’t include him. Mr. Potter was a Gryffindor and Roland knew Gryffindors liked to be in the center of the action so it was probably difficult for him to have to take a back seat in this operation._  
_“That’s very good,” approved Holly. “Just be sure you do the same thing when I call you next.”_  
_Winky nodded her head. “Yes, Miss,” she said eagerly._  
_“Then you do whatever I say,” Holly continued, “and come right back here…”_

          _“Accio!”_ shouted Roland firmly aiming his wand towards the Sir’s wand. He was rewarded by a firm thwunk as the wand hit his fingers. Roland reached out with his other hand and grabbed the wand before it fell to the floor. “Got it!” he told Rupert who was struggling with Sir. Rupert had successfully knocked Sir to the floor, but the chair hadn’t gone with him. It had instead remained upright forming a barrier between Sir and Rupert. Rupert had had to scramble around the chair to get to Sir.  
           Roland next pointed his wand at Sir. _“Stupify!”_ he shouted and Sir slid across the room. _“Stupify!”_ Roland shouted again; Sir mashed into the wall and slid to the floor stunned. Rupert pulled out a length of rope and swiftly bound Sir’s wrists together.  
           “Search him!” Roland instructed. “He’s bound to have a second wand on him…” Rupert swiftly patted him down stopping when he retrieved a wand from his ankle. He held the wand up with a smile and carefully pocketed it.  
           “You call that a search?” questioned Vernon. Roland recognized Vernon from his time undercover at Smeltings. Mr. Potter had pointed Vernon out to Roland so he could better protect him. Vernon stepped forward. “Searchers should never stop after finding something…” he added explaining. “What have you done to Holly?” he accused as he swiftly did his own body search of Sir…  
           Sir, still clearly stunned, managed to say, “You’re alive!”  
           “Yeah,” replied Vernon dryly. “No thanks to you!” Vernon’s body search revealed a third wand against Sir’s thigh and three small vials containing unnamed liquids—most likely potions. Roland’s estimation of Holly’s brother went up considerably. Sure, he was only a Muggle, but he definitely had some useful skills. Roland wondered how Vernon had come by them, but decided it would be better to not ask.  
           “What have you done with Holly?” Vernon repeated as he took hold of Sir by the collar and slammed him back against the floor, successfully pushing Sir several millimeters down… The gray floor was as spongy as the one Holly had described in her report.  
           _“Muscles too!”_ thought Roland impressed. Aloud, he said, “Holly should be fine—just give her a shake.” They had more important things to learn besides the obvious fact that Sir had used an _Imperius Curse_ on Holly. Besides, they needed Holly now. Vernon promptly left Sir to Roland and Rupert while he went to Holly. The two wrestled Sir back to the table.  
           “What do you think you are doing?” Sir snarled while pushing Sir back into the chair.  
           “Just a little _House_ business,” answered Roland holding Sir by the shoulders keeping him in the chair.  
           “You’ll not get away with this!” Sir added as Rupert drew out a second piece of rope.  
           “Of course we will,” assured Rupert while he tied Sir securely to the chair. “Who are you going to tell?”  
           “Holly?” questioned Vernon worriedly. He had a hand on her shoulder and shook it as he spoke. “Holly, are you O.K.?” Abruptly Holly blinked and looked at her brother.  
           “Vernon!” she said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”  
           “You called for him!” explained Roland calmly.  
           Holly swung her face towards him. “Roland?” she asked wonderingly. “Rupert?” she added looking at his direction. “It worked?”  
           “Yep,” answered Roland. “Like a charm! I’m Roland, by the way,” he added for Vernon’s benefit. “That’s Rupert,” he continued indicating Rupert with his head.  
           “Good ta see yeh again,” greeted Rupert. “And this,” he tightened the ropes around Sir’s chest as he spoke, “is _Sir!”_  
           Sir glared menacingly at all of them “You will _regret_ this,” Sir promised. “All of you!” Even though Sir was securely tied up his words sent shivers through Roland’s body.  
           “My grandparents!” Holly said suddenly. “He said he’s got them!”  
           Vernon frowned. “Since when,” he asked. “I heard father talking to them yesterday…”  
           Holly smiled in obvious relief. Then she turned to Roland. “You remember to bring it?”  
           “Of course!” Roland answered while pulling a tiny bottle out of his pocket. “Hold his head back,” he directed Rupert who promptly complied.  
           “What’s that?” questioned Vernon as Roland proceeded to uncork the bottle.  
           _“Veritaserum,”_ answered Roland briefly though he knew it wouldn’t mean anything Vernon. Sir, however, tried more vigorously to twist his head out of the way.  
           “Truth serum,” answered Holly using an obviously Muggle term. Without being asked, Vernon stepped forward and lent a hand in keeping Sir still while Rupert pried open his mouth. Roland poured the liquid down Sir’s throat and they held his head back preventing Sir from spitting it out afterwards.  
           When they had finished, Sir glared venomously at Vernon. “You are still a common _ruffian_ who never should have been permitted in Smeltings!” He spat; the spittle landed squarely on Vernon’s chest.  
           Vernon looked down and shrugged. “All the more reason you should have known better than to _attack_ my sister!” he told Sir as he used his sleeve to wipe off the spit. “How did you know we’d be on the train?” he asked in a casual sounding voice. It was a question Holly had voiced repeatedly when she talked to the Hufflepuffs. She was certain Sir was everywhere to the point of paranoia! It had brought home how much damage Sir had done to Holly the previous year, to _all_ the Hufflepuffs who hadn’t cared or helped her because of Sabois and Sorbi. Hopefully, they would overcome this.  
           Sir looked at Holly, _“You_ told me,” he told her with a superior smile.  
           “No!” Holly said in a horrified whisper. “I never!”  
           “You did!” replied Sir with obvious satisfaction.  
           “How?” asked Roland before Holly could object further. Sir had taken _Veritaserum_ so it had to be the truth, but not all of it. Sir’s words were clearly an attempt to tie Holly further to him, to imply that on some level she wanted to _remain_ with Sir and had helped him to that end…  
Sir glared at Roland without speaking.  
           “T’aint offn yeh can _brag_ about yer doin’s,” put in Rupert encouragingly. “How’d yeh do it?”  
           “Smith,” Sir said suddenly. Rupert’s words had broken Sir’s concentration. “You told her and she told me!”  
           “I told her our summer plans when I told her about Apparating lessons,” Holly confirmed reluctantly.  
           “Pity they were no longer _secret_ keepers,” Sir added acidly.  
           Holly whitened. It was clear to Roland that Sir had gone to them to learn Holly’s home address. “Are they O.K.?” she asked worriedly. “Did you harm them?”  
           “No,” Sir answered promptly.  
           “But which question did that answer?” put in Roland. “Did you harm the Smiths?” he asked for clarification.  
           “No.”  
           “Do you have my grandparents?” asked Holly. Roland could tell that Vernon’s assurances were not enough for her.  
           “No.”  
           Holly breathed a visible sigh of relief. Then she stiffened with resolve. “Where is it?” she demanded.  
           “Huh?”  
           “Where is our stuff?” Sir did not answer.  
           “Six bags, two purses, electronics, laptop, my wands—our stuff!” Holly repeated. “None of it was on the train when it stopped! Where is it?” Holly could never get past Sir while the missing items were a constant reminder of his intrusion. Sir glared at her. “Where?” she demanded again.  
           “Room!” he abruptly spit out.  
           “What room? Where?” she persisted.  
           “Unplottable!” answered Sir. “I could take you there,” he suddenly offered. “All of you he added enticingly. “You wouldn’t even have to untie me first…” and held up his bound hands suggestively.  
           _“Yeah, like we would trust you with a wand let alone to take us anywhere!”_ thought Roland derisively. _“It’s sure to be a trick of some sort.”_ But he could see Holly turning the offer over in her mind. She really wanted her things back—in particular, a certain painting she’d done and this would be her last chance.  
           “Is there any other way in?” questioned Vernon suddenly.  
           “Huh?”  
           “Is there any other way into the room besides those wand thingies?” Vernon clarified. Sir frowned and glared at Vernon without speaking.  
           “Answer him!” insisted Holly stomping on the floor for emphasis.  
           “Yes!” Sir spit out while visibly starting at the unexpected noise.  
           “Where?” Holly asked eagerly. Sir did not answer.  
           Vernon reached out and grabbed a finger on Sir’s right hand. “Where?” Vernon repeated as he bent the finger awkwardly.  
           Sir winced with pain. Roland barely heard the word “Loo!” that Sir gasped out.  
           “Loo!” repeated Rupert excitedly. “Check the loo!”  
           Roland immediately looked around and found the small toilet facilities. He entered and checked the toilet. “Not here,” he reported with disappointment and returned back to the group.  
           “Where’s the loo?” he questioned Sir.  
           Sir smiled. “Unplottable,” he answered firmly. “But I could take you there…” he offered again lifting his bound hands suggestively while smiling expectantly…  
           “How could it be unplottable yet accessible without a wand?” puzzled Holly aloud. Roland shook his head in equal confusion.  
           “You sure we can get there without our wands?” Holly asked again.  
           “Yes,” Sir answered firmly, his eyes glittered triumphantly.  
           “Explain!” ordered Rupert.  
           “I shall enjoy making you pay once I get free!” Sir promised venomously instead.  
           Roland stared at Sir with frustration. _Veritaserum_ insured Sir spoke the truth but it couldn’t guarantee he would speak. That would take an _Imperius Curse._  
           “You sure it isn’t that loo in there?” Vernon questioned. “It doesn’t take a wand thingy to get to…”  
           “Positive,” answered Roland.  
           “Is it that loo?” Vernon asked anyway.  
           “It’s unplottable!” replied Sir smugly. “Where you will _never_ find it!” he promised.  
           “Of course we will,” argued Rupert angrily. “Where is it?”  
           “Unplottable!” Sir answered yet again.  
           “Of course it’s unplottable,” came a new voice, that of Paige Crowley, as she swept in from the other room.

 _“Then you do whatever I say,” Holly continued, “and come right back here the moment you have finished—don’t wait for me to give you any other orders. That’s an order right now! Do you understand?”_  
_“Yes, Miss!” agreed Winky while nodding her head up and down energetically._  
_“And you are to return to wherever I am a second time bringing with you Conner and Paige. They’ll be waiting for you right here just like Roland and Rupert were,” informed Holly. “And you must bring them to the same general location but in a different room—there’s bound to be more than one room,” she added hopefully, “but if there isn’t then make sure you are again behind the person you were behind before… Do you understand?”_  
_“Yes, Miss!” agreed Winky._  
_They had never before involved non-Hufflepuffs in their operations, but Holly insisted Fitzpatrick be there because of what Sir had done to him and Holly would only trust Crowley to make the potions; Crowley had refused to assist with the potions unless she could be there at the end…_


	20. Chapter 20

          “The loo is in an unplottable house, like here,” Crowley continued. She wore black knee-high boots, a silky long sleeved black blouse, dark green divided mid-calf length skirt and matching vest. The skirt and vest were both covered with gold embroidery of twisting snakes. Crowley’s long black hair was wrapped with gold thread and twisted high on top of her head and a matching green scarf tied at her neck completed the ensemble. Sir stared in disbelief at Crowley’s arrival. The shock value in his face alone was worth her presence.  
           “I checked the loo!” insisted Roland. “It’s just a loo!”  
           “With a very fancy ward in place to make you think that,” assured Crowley. “Like the wards we put up during the Potions Contest. Only a Slytherin would recognize otherwise. Only a _Slytherin_ can use it for a passageway—but that was before I dismantled the ward… You should have no problem now…”  
           Sir turned positively livid at her words. “How dare you consort with _them_ ; they’re _Hufflepuffs!”_  
           Crowley fixed her black eyes on Sir and moved further into the room. “You … set … me … up!” she hissed venomously silencing Sir with the menace in her tone.  
           And suddenly Roland was very glad Crowley had taken her auror vows. Even so, Roland guessed Crowley would have found a way to exact revenge upon Sir without breaking those vows. But he’d worry about that later. They had things to do now. He picked the duffle bag he had brought with him  
           “Come on!” he urged Holly and headed back towards the loo. On the way, Roland nodded briefly at Fitzpatrick, who stood in the shadows of the other room. Crowley and Rupert would watch Sir; Fitzpatrick would be further back-up, one still unknown to Sir. Holly was paranoid that Sir would find a way to escape no matter what they did. As no one knew Sir better than Holly, her fears were taken seriously. Their final plan was developed with layer upon layer of back-ups, mostly to reassure Holly. From personal experience, Roland knew Sir was a slippery person, but _three_ wands, assorted potions and a warded toilet? It seemed to Roland as if Sir was just as paranoid about Holly as she was about him!  
           Roland could see the difference the moment he re-entered the bathroom. This time he saw a gold chain hanging down from the ceiling right over the toilet. That hadn’t been there before… Rather, it had probably been there all along but that anti-Slytherin ward had made Roland forget seeing it. Roland yanked down experimentally on the chain. There was immediately a flushing sound and a swirl of water within the toilet.  
           “What are we supposed to do?” questioned Holly.  
           “Get in,” instructed Roland.  
           “Seriously?”  
           “Yep,” replied Roland. “I read about the Ministry using this as a security feature during the days of Lord Voldemort,” he told her. “The handle activates the regular toilet and the chain activates the entrance,” Roland said with more confidence than he felt. The last part had been pure guesswork. Ministry usage of toilets had been a passing comment only without an actual explanation of how they were used…  
           “You’re fibbing!” said Holly bluntly. “You don’t know how it works any more than I do!”  
           Roland had dropped his Occlumency when he had arrived knowing Holly would find the presence of his emotions reassuring but doing so had its drawbacks. “You want to go back to Sir and ask?” questioned Roland bluntly.  
           “No,” admitted Holly. “But I’ll let you try first…”  
           “Right,” he agreed knowing Holly was probably safer here with three other wizards on guard than wherever the toilet took him. Roland slung the duffle bag over his shoulders and drew out his wand while staring apprehensively into the bowl. “Uh, in case there’s trouble on the other side, you’d better have this though,” Roland added while pulling out the wands they had confiscated from Sir.  
           Holly stared. “Three wands?” she said in disbelief. “Seriously?”  
           “Yep. I’d say Sir was more than a little worried being about being with you!” Roland observed softly with a bit of pride.  
           Holly selected the wand that Sir had been holding at the time of his capture. Roland recognized the wand as the one Holly had taken from Sir the previous year; Wizard Thomas had circulated its picture to all the aurors. “But I still wouldn’t have been able to Apparate,” said Holly in a mournful kind of voice as she gave the wand a gentle swish setting off a small stream of sparks.  
           “Now you’re the one that’s fibbing!” scolded Roland in a whisper. He didn’t want his words overheard by Sir in the next room. “As if any of us would have let you return to Sir without making sure you could Apparate first!” Flash paper had not worked too well with Wilkie Twycross, the Ministry Apparition Instructor, but Mr. Potter had persisted finally getting Holly the lessons previously promised.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Holly softly with a smile of satisfaction. “But he doesn’t need to know…” Holly had gotten her lessons while Crowley made the memory potion. Learning to Apparate was one more “back-up” in their plans…  
           Roland stepped gingerly into the toilet bowl. To Roland’s astonishment, though it looked like he was standing in water, his shoes, feet and clothing remained dry. Roland gripped his wand tightly with one hand and reached up. “See you soon,” Roland promised. He pulled the chain and in the next moment felt himself sliding down some sort of a chute stopping someplace cold and dark.  
           _“Lumos!”_ said Roland. His wand lit up and revealed he was standing in a stone alcove of some sort. Roland stepped out of the alcove into a small circular room. Almost immediately a loud _whosh_ sounded and Holly appeared right where he had been standing!

**********

 _“Lumos!”_ said Holly Wycliff waiving her wand. It immediately lit up; Holly stepped forward and looked about. All she saw was a tiny circular room with a flagstone floor and a thick stone wall. Even the ceiling seemed made of stone. “It’s empty!” Holly voiced in disappointment. “He said it would be here!”  
           “There must be some spell we’re missing,” suggested Roland sharing her disappointment. “Or an invisible door…” He reached out and touched the wall on the other side. Immediately, the whole room lit up.  
           “Woah!” said Roland stepping back in surprise. Not only was the place lit up, but four other alcoves equally spaced around the room appeared and the wall was suddenly filled with pictures of various sizes. Roland reached out a hand and touched the walls again. The lighting went out immediately; the other alcoves and the pictures vanished. “Impressive!” said Roland in the darkness. He touched the walls a third time; the lights came on; the alcove and pictures reappeared.  
           Roland immediately put down his bag, opened it and a camera whizzed out. Directing it with his wand, the camera sped around the room taking photos of the pictures but Holly saw none of that. Like a magnet, her eyes were drawn to the largest picture in the room. It was huge, life-sized, wearing flowing emerald green robes, wand out ready for use, and an icy cold determined expression on his face: Sir! Even the sight of him made Holly’s blood turn cold and her body shiver… But it was more than that; there was something about the way he stood… Suddenly Holly was on her knees gagging—she would have vomited had she eaten anything that morning but she hadn’t so they were dry heaves that seemed to go on and on…  
           “It’s not Sir; it’s just a picture!” said Roland comfortingly while putting his arm protectively over Holly’s shoulders. The camera whizzed back into his bag. “And you’ve beaten Sir!! You even have his wand—the one in the picture!” Roland pointed out.  
           “No!” whispered Holly between the gags. “The pose! It’s—”  
           “The headmaster?” filled in Roland. “Yeah, I guessed that. It looks a lot like the one on the notes Sir sent you.” Sir had sent Holly all sorts of notes and gifts the previous year reminding Holly of her time with him and assuring Holly her freedom was temporary. All Sir’s messages were “signed” with a copy of the picture of Headmaster Snape that he had obviously found among Holly’s things after he had first kidnapped her. “You should be flattered,” Roland told Holly. “I get the feeling Sir is just as impressed with the Headmaster as you are. It can’t be because he ever met the guy,” Roland mused aloud, “so maybe he knows good artwork when he sees it.”  
           “Yeah, like I can draw?” stated Holly bluntly. Holly had directed but Clayton, the real artist, had done most of the work. “But he could have found my signature on it,” mused Holly thoughtfully, “and that’s why Uncle John kept on insisting I draw my dreams—he might have thought I had actual talent…”  
           “Uncle John?”  
           “That’s what he called himself,” Holly told Roland. She stood. “Said he was my mum’s sister. Looked different, too,” Holly added. “That’s him,” she pointed at a fairly large picture of “Uncle John” that was featured to the right of the Sir picture.  
           “Doesn’t look a bit like you,” said Roland firmly though his emotions said differently.  
           “Mmm,” said Holly noncommittally. “I was beginning to have my doubts after Diagon Alley; no pictures of him and mum anywhere in the cottage… Do you know of any potion with a lemony taste?” she questioned suddenly.  
           “Huh?”  
           “It was just something “Uncle John” gave me after Diagon Alley,” explained Holly. “He said it was _medicine,_ but I don’t think so. Medicines don’t work like that. I felt ever so much better afterwards; calmer, could think more clearly too!”  
           Roland laughed. “I bet that was Serenity!” he told Holly. “Professor Slughorn let us all have a taste after Crowley developed it and before one of our potions exams one day, field testing, you see. Said it was bound to be the winning potion and it was! ‘Course, we all figured that was because the Professor had a sizable voice in the matter. But I did really well on that exam. Too bad Serenity got abused so...” Roland’s voice trailed off regretfully. “Well, well, well!” added Roland with sudden recognition. “That explains a lot!”  
           “What?” questioned Holly looking curiously at the picture that had caught Roland’s attention. It was of a tall thin man with pale skin and black hair wearing a black suit. Holly had never seen him before. “Who is it?” she asked reaching out and lightly touching the picture.  
           Immediately the picture vanished and in its place was a wooden door with a piece of parchment posted on it. Roland reached out and removed the parchment. “It’s a basic biography!” he said cheerfully as he looked it over. “That’ll help a lot!” he added as he rolled up the parchment and put it in his bag.  
           “Who is it?” asked Holly curiously.  
           “Just one of Sir’s identities,” said Roland vaguely. “Come on!” he added as he opened the door and stepped in. Holly followed.  
She found herself standing in a plain room containing few pieces of furniture: a sofa, a lamp, a coffee table, a plain desk and chair, and a couple of easy chairs. The walls were bare except for a small black and white photo behind the desk, and a huge painting of a golden coloured snake wrapped around a leafy branch that hung over the sofa.  
           Roland didn’t pause to look around but immediately knelt and put his duffle bag on the ground. He opened the bag and pulled out a smaller yellow bag monogrammed with the Hufflepuff crest. “Here,” he said handing the yellow bag to Holly. Leaving the bag on the ground open Roland stood and aimed his wand at the desk. _“Accio!”_ he shouted. The desk and chairs slid across the floor towards Roland. He pointed his wand towards the bag and one by one the desk and chairs moved into the bag! Holly had no idea how they fit into the bag but they did. Then Roland pointed his wand towards the sofa. _“Accio!”_ he shouted again. The sofa and the snake painting slid into the bag. Soon the whole room was empty except for the photo on the wall. Roland picked up his bag and carried it into the kitchen area. Holly went to the photo. It was of a building that looked vaguely familiar. Holly pondered about the familiarity while she dug her fingernails under the edges to pull the photo off-or rather, tried to. It seemed glued on.  
           “Leave it!” instructed Roland coming from the other room. “I think we’ve got all we can from here. Let’s get to the next place.”  
           “But this photo,” protested Holly. “It’s stuck to the wall! It must be important…”  
           _“Accio!”_ shouted Roland while aiming his wand directly at the photo. It came off the wall with a loud ripping sound leaving a plaster and paint chip gap and flew towards Roland. “Got it!” he said while he grabbed the photo and stuffed it into his bag. Then Roland opened the door they had entered earlier and ushered Holly out.  
            Once back in the circular room, Roland reached up and touched another picture—that of an elderly wizard wearing horn-rimmed glasses and holding a gnarled brown wand. A door immediately appeared with a piece of parchment stuck to the door. Holly removed the parchment and looked briefly at it before handing it to Roland. The name at the top read: Alexander Dantay, Borage Publishing. “Do you know this person?” she questioned curiously.  
           “No,” admitted Roland, “but you can be sure we’ll be looking into it.” He opened the door and the two went in. This time the room was filled with papers and books. Roland again set his bag on the floor and opened it. _“Accio!”_ he shouted while pointing his wand at the shelves. The books all flew off and into the bag. Then came all the papers. Holly caught one of the papers as it flew by—it appeared to be a potion recipe with the word: **Rejected** scrawled in red ink over the page. She let the page go and it flew into the bag with the others. A second room was filled with all sorts of potion supplies. Roland sent everything into his bag. Both rooms were soon emptied. Roland closed the bag and picked it up.  
           “Next!” he said briskly and returned to the circular room. Holly followed. The two selected more pictures and rapidly cleaned out the rooms behind them before Roland paused and looked up at the huge picture of Sir. “Your things will be behind that picture,” he told Holly gently. “You want help?”  
           Holly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “No,” she replied softly. “I can do it, you go ahead and empty out the rest of the rooms.” Roland nodded. He touched a new picture, that of a young looking Asian boy. A door appeared with a bio sheet. Roland took down the bio sheet and put it into his bag. Then he opened the door and stepped inside. The door closed leaving Holly alone in the circular room. She reached up and lightly touched the picture of Sir. Immediately a door appeared. There was no Bio parchment, only the letters “S - i - r ” burned deeply into the door. Before she could change her mind, Holly opened the door and stepped inside the room beyond.  
           At first glance, the room did not look all that special. There was some sort of ceiling lighting, a green plush easy chair with a small side table next to it in the middle and a door on the other side. Then Holly turned her head to look at the wall in front of the easy chair… “What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.  
           “Waiting for you,” answered the figure in the portrait dryly.  
           “But, why are you here, here?” Holly sputtered for the person in the portrait was none other than Headmaster Snape! “How?”  
           “Potter wanted someone on the _inside,”_ replied the Headmaster. His lips curled in obvious distaste at the name “Potter.” “A rather uninspired plan clearly doomed to failure,” he added acidly.  
           “But, it hasn’t failed!” protested Holly. “You’re here!” Her eyes shined in admiration.  
           “As if _that_ were any use,” observed the Headmaster critically.  
           “But it was!” insisted Holly. “Just by being there! By being here! All this time I thought I was alone but you were here watching over me… I should have known you would always be there for me!”  
           “Yes, well,” the portrait shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Is that it?” he questioned suddenly.  
           “What?”  
           “Your art?” he nodded his head to one side.  
           Holly looked in the same direction. “Yes!” she said with delight spying a small piece of paper, small enough to wrap around her wand, tacked up on the wall next to the portrait. “That’s it!”  
           Holly reached up and peeled it off the wall. “Have you seen it?” she questioned. The headmaster shook his head. Holly immediately held it up close for his inspection. “Like it!” she asked. The portrait peered at the picture. “I can make it bigger, if you like,” Holly added eagerly. “It’s really a life-sized painting shrunk down…”  
           “That won’t be necessary,” the Headmaster said gruffly. “Just hold it a bit higher…”  
           Holly quickly complied standing on her toes to accommodate him. “Course I know it doesn’t exactly look like you,” Holly rambled worriedly while he looked, “because you’re lots younger and in this portrait you’re, ah—”  
           “Old,” supplied the Headmaster dryly.  
           “Oh, no! Never old!” denied Holly rapidly. “Just, ah,” Holly fumbled for the right word, “less young; mature!” Holly smiled. “But still handsome!” she added.  
           The Headmaster snorted.  
           “Seriously!” insisted Holly. “But black is not _you!_ You look much better in emerald green…” she told him. “Why didn’t you wear green for this portrait?”  
           “I had other things on my mind!” the Headmaster snapped.  
           “Yes, of course, I’m sorry,” Holly backtracked immediately. “You look good whatever you wear…”  
           “Hummph” the Headmaster snorted again. “It’s a passable resemblance,” he abruptly declared and leaned back.  
           “You think so?” said Holly with relief. “I’m glad. It’s my first attempt,” she confessed. “And I was so afraid I’d ruin it. Clayton did most of it but he made me sign it too…” replied Holly. “I think that’s why Uncle John insisted I draw my dreams! He probably saw my signature and thought I could draw!”  
           “No doubt,” agreed the Headmaster dryly.  
           “Hey, Holly,” came Roland’s voice. Holly rapidly rolled up her picture and tucked it into the waistband of her pants. “You about done?” Roland stepped into the room and stopped abruptly. “Oh, hi there,” he said cheerfully while looking at the portrait. “I had a feeling we’d find you here!”  
           “Wait! You knew about the Headmaster?” accused Holly.  
           “Course!”  
           “And you didn’t tell me?”  
           “Couldn’t. We knew Sir was watching both you and Vernon; we didn’t want to risk him learning what we were up to,” Roland explained. “Besides, there wasn’t much to tell ‘cept that the Headmaster here figured out that Sir was a metamorphmangus!”  
           “You did?” Holly breathed lovingly at the Headmaster. The Headmaster leaned further back in his chair clearly embarrassed by the open adoration.  
           “Yep! The information changed the total direction of our investigation,” Roland informed Holly while enjoying the Headmaster’s obvious discomfort. “But seriously,” Roland continued, “we’ve got to get going, have you got your things?” Holly shook her head.  
           “He put some luggage through that door,” the Headmaster contributed while nodding towards the other door in the room. “Perhaps that’s what you’re looking for.”  
           “Thanks,” said Holly. She headed for the door eagerly and then stopped and looked around the rest of the room hesitantly.  
           “Go on,” urged Roland. “I can take care of this room.”  
           Holly nodded her thanks. She opened the door and found a tiny room filled with luggage. “Yes!” she said to herself recognizing the bags—mum’s, father’s, Vernon’s even hers—all there!” Holly opened the yellow bag Roland had given her and carefully set it on the floor. Then she straightened. Taking the wand she pointed it at Vernon’s computer—the smallest item— _“Accio!”_ she shouted and waived the wand the way she had practiced it with the Hufflepuffs. The laptop rose gently into the air, floated towards her and then slid into the bag fitting through the smaller opening with impossible ease. _“It worked!”_ she thought with amazement.  
           _“Accio!”_ Holly repeated. This time she aimed her wand at a larger suitcase. Soon it too was in the bag.  _“Extendable charms are terrific!”_ thought Holly as she fitted all her family’s luggage and things into the one small bag Roland had given her.  
           Then Holly turned her attention to the shelves that lined the walls behind the bags. They were filled with books. They looked used and well worn, some more than others. Holly scanned the titles she could read from a distance: _Unit 731, Testimony? Mengele: the Complete story?_ _Stockholm Syndrome?_ They were not familiar titles. Holly stepped forward and pulled one of the nearer books off the shelf and looked at it. The title was: _Brainwashing, the Science of Thought Control._ Feeling suddenly ill, Holly returned that book to the shelf and removed a second book. The title read: _The Manipulated Mind: Brainwashing, Conditioning and Indoctrination._ There were more books on the shelves, the titles of which she could now easily read: _Propaganda and Persuasion, Doctors from Hell, Battle for the Mind, Mind Programming…_ This was how he had done it!!! Where Sir got all the horrible ideas to do what he had done to her!!! How could people do that to each other? Holly was tempted to leave the books on the shelves but decided she would rather destroy them all personally… Shutting her mind to the contents, Holly took a deep breath. “Accio!” she shouted while waiving her wand. Soon all the books were out of sight and safely in her bag.  
           When she had finished, Holly gave the room one last look to make sure it was totally empty before retrieving her bag. That’s when she noticed a thin line drawn on the wall. There were two lines, actually. One was a large rectangle the same size and shape of a door. The other was within the large rectangle and outlined a small square about the size of a piece of typing paper. Holly reached out and touched the small square. Suddenly a list of names appeared. Administrative Registration Department, Animagus Registry, Central Department, Department of defense, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Department of Mysteries, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical creatures, Magical accidents and Catastrophes, Department of Magical Transportation, Department of International Magical Cooperation… Some of the names seemed familiar but Holly couldn’t quite place how or imagine why Sir had them written on the wall. She reached out and touched the line saying Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Immediately, a new set of words appeared. Names—unfamiliar names, except that of Wizard Dean Thomas. Holly touched his name and an image of the wizard suddenly appeared and turned slowly in front of her—it was life sized, much like those in the Memorial Room at Hogwarts. Why on earth? Holly reached through the image of Wizard Thomas and touched the larger square. His image vanished and she saw a white door with a porcelain white doorknob and no labeling. Holly cautiously opened the door…  
           Books! Hundreds of them! Shelves and shelves filled with books. It looked like a proper library. Would her bag hold them all? Holly didn’t know but she had to try. She pointed her wand at the books on the nearest shelf and said “Accio!” The books rose…  
           “Hey? Is someone there?” Holly dropped her wand in surprise. The books fell as well making a loud clatter. “Who’s there?” came the voice again, much nearer than before. Holly ducked back into the other room and hastily closed the door behind her. The door vanished. With her heart still pounding wildly, Holly returned to the other room and Roland.  
           Roland stood in the center of the room. His bag was on the floor but the room had not yet been emptied of its contents. Roland had this solemn look on his face and his emotions were, distress? Guilt? Embarrassment? They were very hard to read.  
           “What? What is it?” asked Holly, immediately concerned.  
           “The, ah, Headmaster told me about an extendable drawer in the side table,” began Roland in an uncertain sounding voice, “and how to get into it…” He pulled out a drawer Holly hadn’t noticed before, reached in and brought out two wands and a very familiar belt and wand case.  
           “My wands!” Holly exclaimed in delight while taking them from Roland. She lovingly stroked each, the rainbow eucalyptus and her original wand, the one Sir had taken from her the previous year after the match. Holly set the rainbow wand aside and squished the other two in her wand case. “Not the Headmaster’s?” she questioned looking up at Roland mournfully. That was the wand he had given her while in the alternate world. It had once belonged to Cousin Harry’s mum and was equally important to Holly.  
           “Only these two,” Roland answered solemnly. “There were wands in the other rooms,” he added, “but they didn’t look anything like that other wand you had.” Roland waited until Holly re-strapped the wand case and belt around her waist and had tucked the two wands away before saying, “There’s more…” Roland reached again into the drawer and pulled out a thick folder and a slender emerald green book. He set them on the table. Holly stared at the two curiously. The book was embossed with swirling snakes and appeared to be a journal of some sort. What would Sir have written about? Suddenly, Holly didn’t want to know.  
           The folder looked sort of ordinary with no name or label on it. Holly reached out, picked up the folder and opened it. A piece of paper slid out. Holly recognized it instantly as a floor plan of the cottage complete with ward locations… She bent down, picked up the paper and opened the folder to return it. That’s when she saw the chart—distances, age, gender, injuries, intensity, wizard, Muggle, all neatly recorded. The world swam before Holly’s eyes as she found herself viscerally reliving every moment on the chart as she read through it.  
           Roland’s arm reached around Holly’s shoulders steadying her. “The stuff I’m collecting will probably all end up in the Ministry to be sorted,” began Roland softly. “We didn’t think the Ministry should have any of this,” he added gently.  
           Tears streamed from Holly’s face and she started to sob uncontrollably. The fear, uncertainty, loneliness and pain all came back as if it had happened yesterday.  
           “It’ll be all right,” Roland crooned. “You’ve got him! Sir will never bother you again.” He reached around with his free hand and opened Holly’s extendable bag. With a gentle tug he removed the folder and the journal from Holly’s grasp and slid them into the bag. “No one will ever have to see any of that,” Roland assured Holly as he closed her bag, “unless you wish it,” and gave her a warm hug before speaking again. “Now, let’s get out of here.” Roland released Holly with a final reassuring pat and pointed his wand at the end table. _“Accio!”_ he said and it flew into the open bag… When he had finished with the furniture, Holly told Roland about the white door. He immediately returned with Holly to check it out.  
           “These are Departments within the Ministry of Magic!” Roland announced with he saw the list on the wall. “And those are employee names,” he added when he touched one of the department names as Holly had done. “It’s an identities list,” he announced. “People Sir can turn into when he wishes to visit the Ministry while in disguise!” Roland turned the white doorknob and cautiously peeked on the other side. Then he hastily shut the door without entering the other room. “It’s the Ministry Library!” he exclaimed in an excited whisper. “Sir had his own private entrance to the Ministry of Magic! I’ve got to seal this door tight before we leave!” Roland added. “You go on ahead and get the Headmaster’s portrait off the wall and I’ll meet you there,” he told Holly. Holly nodded and returned to the room with the portrait. When Roland returned, Holly lifted the portrait of Headmaster Snape and the two left the room.


	21. Chapter 21

          Conner Fitzpatrick sat quietly in the area between the two rooms watching. He wanted to rush in and confront Sir and do—well, he hadn’t gotten quite that far, one couldn’t just do the kind of things Conner wanted to do to someone all tied up… So Conner sat quietly as he had promised.

 _“This is a Hufflepuff operation,” Mr. Potter had explained. “You’re officially there to observe not participate. You wouldn’t be there at all if Holly hadn’t insisted, hadn’t said you needed this…”_  
_Conner tightly gripped the armrests of the chair he sat in. Even such a vague reference to all the things Sir had done to him triggered an intense rage within. He forced the feelings aside saying aloud, “And unofficially?”_  
_“Unofficially? I want you to make sure whatever their plan is succeeds. That’s official too, I guess,” Mr. Potter added as an afterthought. “We all want the same end and that’s to make sure Sir doesn’t bother any of us ever again.”_  
_“Whatever their plan is?” echoed Conner. “You mean you don’t know?”_  
_“The broad concept, of course,” replied Mr. Potter. “I am Holly’s guardian, after all, but not the whole thing. Not the finer details,” he admitted._  
_Conner could tell that the idea bothered Mr. Potter as much as it bothered him. Being part of a larger team made Conner feel very uncomfortable. Conner liked being a loner. It meant he was in charge of whatever happened, accountable to no one and dependent on no one to get things done._  
_“Basically I’m acting as liaison between the Hufflepuffs and Holly’s family, them and other, uh, non-Hufflepuffs…” Mr. Potter continued._  
_“Like me?” questioned Conner._  
_“Yeah, like you,” he admitted. “It’s a very good plan,” Mr. Potter added in a voice that didn’t sound so certain, “but…” he trailed off._  
_“It’s not yours?” filled in Conner._  
_“No,” Mr. Potter agreed. “Even if it were, I’d still be worried. The thing is, no plan can be foolproof and Sir, well, Sir is very resourceful…_  
_Before this time, nobody’s ever heard of him or, if they have, they can’t remember,” Mr. Potter amended. “Sir can Apparate silently, uses silent spells, the Imperius Curse and is utterly ruthless! That makes him as skilled as any Death Eater I’ve ever met. Add to that at least six aliases, that we know of, and the fact that he is apparently good with potions and construction spells. All of this makes Sir formidable indeed. Holly had Sir prisoner for more than a week, maybe two before she was rescued,” Mr. Potter continued informatively. “There’s no way Sir hasn’t made his latest plans for Holly without taking that into account. If I were he, I would have some sort of wandless escape route built into wherever he put her just in case—one he can use and she can’t. Maybe some more wands about that she wouldn’t find… So even if they tie Sir up and disarm him he could still manage to escape! And then there’s his other escapes! Sir made Holly’s prison collapse nearly killing everyone within and he got out of Azkaban! Azkaban! I don’t even know how!” Mr. Potter shuttered at the thought. “The point is, I don’t want Sir escaping again! We can’t afford someone like Sir loose in the wizard community creating havoc. That’s why I’m lending you this.” Mr. Potter pulled out something silvery gray and shimmery from under his shirt._  
_Conner stared at the fabric in disbelief. Was that what he thought it was? He’d heard about the invisible cloak, known it existed, but had never before actually seen it._  
_“As soon as you’re alone, put it on so you can keep watch without being seen,” Mr. Potter told Conner while handing him the cloak. It was strange to touch, sort of fluid and liquidy, yet still fabric. “Stay out of things as much as possible; it’s their show. Maybe the Hufflepuff plan will work without any hitches. If so, well and good and you were just one more layer of reassuring, but unnecessary, back-up. If not, then take whatever action seems necessary. Perhaps surprise will give you the extra edge you’ll need against Sir. I’m counting on you, Conner,” Mr. Potter added while Conner fingered the cloak wonderingly. “This nightmare has got to end once and for all!”_

          Of the four people in the next room, Conner only knew Crowley personally. She had been aloof and condescending while at Hogwarts. Conner and Albus had saved her life last spring, not that she had ever said anything about it afterwards; did Slytherins feel gratitude? Until Crowley had accused Sir of “setting her up,” Conner hadn’t had any idea why Crowley had been included in the “Hufflepuff” operation nor did he know the details of the “set up.”  
           “Keep out of sight until I tell you otherwise,” hissed Crowley to Conner after she had quietly removed the ward over the loo and before she swept into the other side to tell the others what she had done. She didn’t know about the cloak but her words matched Mr. Potter’s orders. So Conner pulled the cloak over his body and with wand in hand, sat down where he could wait and watch.  
           Of the other three, Conner guessed the one tied in the chair was Sir. At least he matched the drawing circulated by the _Prophet_ the year before. Conner had briefly met the Hufflepuff while waiting for Winky’s call. His name was Rupert Shunpike and had told Conner that his father had a taxi business. The third one was a bit of a mystery. He was shorter than Rupert in size and rather hefty. Conner had never seen him before and he didn’t hold a wand in readiness making Conner think he was Muggle. He also had blonde hair and green eyes like Holly so Conner speculated he was Holly’s brother.  
           It was possible that all that worry of Mr. Potter’s was just hype to get Conner to keep out of sight but Conner doubted it. At first the four had all stared at each other in silence. It had been rather boring to watch. Then Sir started speaking.  
           “Did you really think she removed my ward for your benefit?” Sir whispered suggestively. “She has her own agenda and it has nothing to do with helping you! Already your numbers are halved,” Sir reminded, “and Holly is safely out of the way; she will not let the opportunity go to waste. How many people do you think will be waiting when Holly and DeWitt return?” Sir questioned knowingly. Crowley’s cool expression never changed but a look of uncertainty crossed the Rupert’s and the brother’s face.  
           _“They should gag Sir,”_ thought Conner. He was clearly trying to persuade the other two that Crowley was not to be trusted. Sir would probably try to use that mistrust as a wedge to create an opportunity for his own escape. Conner didn’t really trust Crowley either; she was a Slytherin, after all. But she had removed the ward in the WC and Mr. Potter seemed to trust her... Unfortunately nobody suggested gagging Sir and he kept talking; Conner gripped his wand tight, kept quiet and watched.  
           “You doubt me?” Sir challenged addressing Rupert. “You gave me _Veritaserum,_ remember? I don’t lie. She blew up the store!” he told them. “Do you really think this is so much different? Holly is already well trained,” Sir continued proudly. The expression on the brother’s face darkened. “She obeys promptly once you know the right buttons to push and I know them all!” Sir boasted. “She will make a useful tool for any Slytherin with the courage to take advantage of her…” Sir added while watching both the brother and the Hufflepuff.  
           The brother launched himself at Sir—Rupert held him back with difficulty. “He’s baiting you!” Rupert said. “Crowley wouldn’t do that!”  
           “Wouldn’t she?” questioned Sir without missing a beat. “She was at the Ball but the Ministry says it doesn’t know who the Death Eaters were—you think she doesn’t know?” he accused. “Why didn’t she reveal their names? She wants them for herself—has her own plans for them! Ask her why everyone blacked out afterwards…”  
           They all looked at Crowley. And in that moment Sir’s arms whipped out and grabbed both Rupert and the brother and dragged them to him. No they weren’t arms that poked out of his sleeves, but black tentacle-like things complete with suckers! Sir had each by the neck and was squeezing tightly! The two struggled to escape but couldn’t unwrap the thick rope-like tentacles around their throats. Conner stood hastily.  
           _“NO!”_ said Crowley sharply. “What kind of button will this push if Wycliff returns to two dead bodies?” she added coolly without moving. Conner watched in horror as the struggles of the two began to slow but he didn’t move, not yet. That “no!” could have been meant for Sir, but Crowley was looking directly at _him_ when she said it. Maybe she _did_ know about the cloak…  
           “She’ll see you with the wand and me all tied up!” answered Sir in a smug sounding voice not the least bit winded by the exertion of holding the two tightly against his body. “She might even help me escape to chase after you! Better for you to release me now and come with me!” he suggested.  
           _“Patrificus Totalus!”_ Crowley shouted. The Hufflepuff stiffened and straightened stretching Sir’s arm (or whatever that was) with him. Sir moved the brother closer using his body as a shield and proceeded to drag the Hufflepuff back as well. _“Stupify!”_ Crowley shouted while again aiming her wand at the Hufflepuff. He ripped out of Sir’s grip and flew towards the wall mashing into it and then falling stiffly onto the floor. Bits of flesh fell from Sir’s tentacle-like arm; it waved about briefly in the air before wrapping around the body of the still struggling brother. “If you kill the _help,”_ Crowley said coolly. “Who’s going to serve?”  
           “Huh?” questioned Sir, disconcerted by the apparent change in topic.  
           “That one runs the Sidewinder Express,” Crowley added explaining. “I _like_ the service.”  
           “I only need _one_ hostage!” responded Sir coldly and he tightened his hold on the brother. Conner could see no way of getting the brother away from Sir without serious injury to the brother; what spell was good against tentacles? The brother’s face turned purplish; his eyes closed and he stopped struggling all together.  
           “Only if he’s alive,” argued Crowley practically. She looked again towards Conner and shook her head almost imperceptively. What was she up to? “Alive, he’ll stop Wycliff and DeWitt from attacking when they return,” Crowley explained returning her attention to Sir.  
           “True,” agreed Sir thoughtfully. The squeezing stopped and colour returned to the brother’s face but the eyes remained closed. Conner exhaled silently in relief. The tentacle around the brother’s body unwound and rewound to include his arms within its grip holding them tightly to his body. “But only if I’m still here…” continued Sir. “You haven’t responded to my offer…”  
           “What offer?”  
           “That you dump this lot and join me,” answered Sir. “Why are you helping this … riff-raff when you can achieve greater things with me?”  
           “You?” echoed Crowley.  
           “Yes,” he said proudly.  
           “You are tied to a chair holding a _Muggle_ as hostage,” Crowley said disdainfully. “Why would I join forces with you?”  
           “The appearance of my captivity is just an illusion,” assured Sir proudly. “I can escape from here easily. I just haven’t decided whether or not to leave while implicating you… Do you doubt me?” he questioned. _“Veritaserum,”_ Sir reminded. “You know I speak the truth. Come with me,” he added persuasively, “and I’ll see to it that no one will ever know you were here in the first place. I have access to potion recipes beyond your wildest beliefs and you can create to your heart’s desire…”  
           “And your specifications?”  
           “Of course,” agreed Sir smoothly, “but only when necessary…” he added disarmingly.  
           “You ask me to leave everything behind,” replied Crowley coolly. “I’ve a wedding…”  
           “What? You insist on marrying that useless popinjay?” questioned Sir derisively. “Swear allegiance to me then and I’ll make sure my escape does not implicate you; I’ll even make it appear you heroically tried your best but failed… And then I’ll get you that Potions Master to supervise your apprenticeship I promised, set you up in a shop near the Ministry and see you get all the business you wish…”  
           “All that?” questioned Crowley without expression.  
           “Yes,” replied Sir confidently. “Consider it a wedding present, if you like, but you have to swear allegiance first…”  
           “What kind of allegiance?”  
           “The kind you would be wise to never break,” replied Sir calmly.  
           “Unbreakable?”  
           “No. That requires a bonder and I would not use him,” Sir indicated Rupert who still lay stiff against the wall. There were ragged ugly red circles on his neck from where the suckers had ripped skin away.  
           “A mark?”  
           “And display your allegiance for all to see?” questioned Sir disdainfully. “No. The Dark Lord did that; it wasn’t binding and in the end, his followers were insincere...”  
           “What, then?”  
           “Blood oath,” replied Sir. “We mingle blood.”  
           “There’s no knife…”  
           “That’s no problem,” replied Sir confidently. “Wycliff always carries a knife. I’m sure he’ll be happy to lend it to me for the occasion, won’t you?” he said addressing the person still in his grip confirming he was indeed Holly’s brother. Wycliff remained still. “I know you’re awake,” Sir continued, “waiting for an opportunity to escape, but that’s not going to happen. A simple nod will do for now,” he added. Wycliff still did not move. Conner saw the muscles on the tentacle kind of ripple tightening further around Wycliff’s neck.  
           “Don’t bother,” cut in Crowley stopping Sir mid-squeeze.  
           He looked at her expectantly.  
           “I wouldn’t swear allegiance to you even if you _could_ intimidate the Muggle to agree,” she told him. “You are a _pathetic_ excuse for a Slytherin! You couldn’t keep hold of a 4th year Hufflepuff long enough to turn her! A _Mudblood_ Hufflepuff no less!” Crowley added cuttingly. “Not only that, you let her get your wand! Your _wand!_ How embarrassing is that? No wonder you have so many around,” Crowley added derisively. “You loose them so quickly. You’re a disgrace to the Slytherin House!” she accused. “At least the Dark Lord was defeated by a _Gryffindor…_ ”  
           “How dare you…” began Sir angrily.  
           “Why not?” challenged Crowley. “I’m only saying what we’re all thinking. If we could… I know why you put that memory charm in the _Prophet,”_ she continued. “You didn’t want anyone to remember what a complete and absolute _failure_ you are!”  
           Sir shot out of the chair! Conner didn’t know how he did it but one moment Sir was seated and tied and the next Sir was standing and Wycliff was flying across the floor! The brother landed in a heap against the wall.  
          _“Crucio!”_ Sir shouted before Conner had even realized Sir was free. Crowley screamed as her wand dropped to the floor and she flew across the room. Where had Sir’s wand come from? Conner watched in horror as the screaming seemed to go on and on… Abruptly Sir dropped his wand ending the curse and the screams. Crowley lay on the floor gasping for breath. “You shall _regret_ your decision,” Sir told Crowley angrily, “and _beg_ for forgiveness…” He lifted his wand again—  
           _“NOW!”_ Crowley shouted.  
           “Huh?”  
           Sir twisted around to look as Conner removed his cloak and shouted, _“Expelliarmus!”_ The wand flew out of Sir’s hand and into the air. _“Stupify!”_ Conner shouted. His spell shot Sir out of reach of the falling wand, which landed harmlessly on the floor with a soft thud.  
           Crowley reached out and grabbed Sir’s wand. _“Accio!”_ she said and her own wand flew back into her waiting hand.  
           Conner swiftly stowed his wand and moved up to the still stunned Sir. He put his hands on Sir’s shoulders and flopped down on top of him pinning the guy to the floor. Conner knew _“Petrificus Totalus!”_ would never work on Sir but didn’t know any other immobilizing spells. Sir immediately struggled to get up. “Do you have a death wish?” Conner accused while trying to keep Sir on the floor. “What were you thinking baiting him like that? You could have gotten killed?” Sir’s arms flailed back and around turning again into tentacles, latched onto Conner’s head and neck and tried to pull him off.  
           Crowley didn’t answer. She stood and walked over to Conner. Then she planted a foot between Sir’s shoulder blades at the base of Sir’s neck and pushed hard. Sir’s head sank into the floor. It was weird how spongy everything felt in the room. The overall tugging ended. One tentacle released Conner’s neck and wrapped around Crowley’s ankle and pulled. Her foot remained firm. _“Petrificus Reversus!”_ she said. Conner tried to look at what she had done but the tentacle on his head held him fast. He heard a low groan and then Crowley said, “Perhaps you can help keep Sir contained.”  
           A few seconds later Conner sensed and felt, rather than saw, Rupert land on top of Sir next to him. Sir continued to struggle but his efforts got him nothing. Abruptly the tentacles released Conner’s head and Crowley’s ankle, returned to a human shape and lay still on the floor. “You shall all _pay!”_ promised Sir venomously.  
           Crowley removed her foot and walked over to Wycliff.  
           “He O.K.?” asked Conner worriedly as she gracefully knelt to check on him.  
           “He’ll live,” replied Crowley coolly. Conner breathed a sigh of relief. Wycliff hadn’t moved after Sir had thrown him across the room so Conner hadn’t been sure.  
           “I believe you owe me a galleon,” said Crowley.  
           _“Huh? What?”_  
           “I thought you said you didn’t gamble,” replied Rupert, who clearly knew what she was talking about even though Conner didn’t.  
           “I don’t,” replied Crowley. “This was no gamble.”  
           “What are you talking about?” asked Conner confused.  
           “Crowley said our ropes would never hold Sir,” said Rupert explaining. “How’d you know?”  
           “He escaped from Azkaban,” replied Crowley. “No flimsy _Hufflepuff_ rope could ever compare to that. You owe me!”  
           “Uh, how about your next ride on the Express at no charge,” suggested Rupert hopefully.  
           “My next _two_ rides,” replied Crowley promptly.  
           “Done,” agreed Rupert cheerfully. “Any ideas on how to hold him besides like this?” he asked conversationally.  
           “No.” Crowley was not much on words.   
           Conner briefly considered suggesting they use Crowley's scarf as a tie but discarded the idea guessing the filmy looking material wouldn't hold Sir for long...  So Conner and Rupert remained on top of Sir while waiting for the return of Holly and Roland. It was a rather boring activity once Sir quit struggling. Crowley sat gracefully down next to Holly’s brother with her wand out ready for use. She stared wordlessly at Sir with almost unblinking black eyes.  
           A groan broke the silence. Conner looked at the source. Holly’s brother was stirring. “Lie still,” murmured Crowley. “Everything’s all right.”  
           Wycliff’s eyes fluttered open. “I was having the awfullest dream,” he mumbled. “That I was being attacked by an octopus!”  
           “That was just a bad dream,” said Crowley soothingly. “There are no octopi here.”  
           _“Not now!”_ added Conner mentally. Arms into tentacles? How _had_ Sir done what he had done earlier? Conner had never seen anything like it before, except in his Manga…  
           “Just relax,” added Crowley. “Everything is fine.”  
           Wycliff closed his eyes and remained still.  
           Silence returned. Conner used the opportunity to reflect upon what he knew about Sir. It wasn’t much. Mr. Potter had warned Conner that Sir was very good at disguises and he might not look like the wanted posters issued by the Ministry. But he had never said anything about turning arms into tentacles. There hadn’t been a wand—how had he done it? It looked nothing like what Headmaster McGonagall had demonstrated for being an Animagus…  
           “How’d you do it anyway?” questioned Conner aloud to Sir. Perhaps he’d answer. Sir had nothing to hide by explaining now.  
           “I’m very good,” replied Sir proudly while explaining nothing.  
           “Sir is a Metamorphmangus with a personality complex,” replied Crowley more informatively not that Conner knew what a Metamorphmangus was...  
           “I _always_ know who I am!” retorted Sir coldly.  
           “Which personality then,” questioned Crowley, “the one before us now or the ones you _hide_ behind the rest of the time?”  
           “I never hide!” Sir denied imperiously.  
           “Course you did,” argued Conner. “Else they would have caught you sooner…”  
           Sir twisted his head to look at Conner. “They’re too _stupid_ to recognize what was under their noses!” he proclaimed arrogantly.  
           “I didn’t,” announced Crowley.  
           “No,” agreed Sir turning his head to face her. “You have some intelligence which is why I made you that offer; but it’s too late for you now. You shall serve me whether you wish it or not…” His words and tone of absolute certainty made Conner’s blood turn cold. Was it possible Sir could still escape and return to exact vengeance?  
           Rupert moved. Conner turned to see why; he was only scratching his nose, no big deal. The action made Conner want to scratch his nose also—no, his nose didn’t actually itch but Conner had this sudden urge to scratch it anyway; it would make him feel incredibly happy to sc—happy!!?  
           That was no common urge! That was just like what he had felt last winter at the Potter’s place when working to overcome the _Imperius Curse!_ No, not just like, _exactly_ like an _Imperius Curse!_ Who was trying to cast an _Imperius Curse??? Sir!_ It had to be!!! But how? It took a wand to cast the curse and Sir had no wand! But he must! But where? Conner turned his head to look when he froze—Sir’s cold blue eyes were fixed upon him! Definitely an _Imperius Curse,_ but it suddenly occurred to Conner that if his “urge” to scratch was motivated by the Curse, then perhaps Rupert’s scratch was too! Rupert could already be under the _Imperius Curse!_ What would Sir order Rupert to do next if Conner spoke up? Conner hastily scratched his nose and waited. That’s what Albus had done when he and James had confronted Witch Umbridge—followed orders. Conner would do the same until he could find that wand…  
           A minute later Conner felt an “urge” to get the invisible cloak. He stood immediately. “I’ve got to get the cloak before I forget it,” Conner said aloud. The words just spilled out of his mouth he was so happy to say them. Sir must have been ready with the explanation when he ordered Conner to get the cloak.  
           Conner moved slowly towards the cloak giving himself more time to think. Of course Sir would want the cloak. Perhaps that was why Sir hadn’t used his wand (wherever it was) to Apparate out yet. But what could he (Conner) do to stop Sir? Not following Sir’s orders would give the game away; Sir could Apparate immediately with Rupert as his hostage and unwilling assistant. Following the orders would give Sir access to Mr. Potter’s cloak.  
           _“Think! Think!”_ Conner said to himself. _“Stupify on Rupert will break the Imperius Curse, but Sir will still have the wand and can leave.”_ Keeping his back to Sir, Conner picked up the cloak and began to fold it. _“How do I stop him from casting the curse and keep him from Apparating?”_ Conner tucked the cloak under his shirt. _“Pain!”_ he thought suddenly. _“Spell casting required concentration. You couldn’t do that if you were in pain!”_ Conner reached into his pocket and pulled out his jackknife—Wycliff wasn’t the only one who carried a knife. Conner hadn’t used it much since he started attending Hogwarts, but old habits died hard… Conner opened the knife, hid the blade under his sleeve and returned to Sir taking care to move at the same slow speed. When he neared Sir, Conner could feel the “urge” to flop again on top… He ignored the urge, dropped to his knees and instead planted his knife deep into Sir’s shoulder.  
           _“AHHHHHH!”_ screamed Sir in shock, pain and surprise. Blood spurted out of the wound.  
           “He’s got another wand!” shouted Conner over the screams. “Rupert! _Imperius Curse!”_ he added trying to make himself understood. Rupert hadn’t even blinked at all the screaming nor had he moved despite Sir’s efforts to get rid of the knife.  
           Crowley acted instantly. _“Stupefy!”_ she shouted aiming her wand at Rupert. He flew across the room landing against the wall and sliding to the floor stunned. Conner twisted his knife making Sir scream yet again insuring he could not concentrate to Apparate.  
           Then Crowley stepped forward and lifted Sir’s wrist—the one he had not lifted or used to get the knife. It came up slowly. To Conner’s horror the forefinger stretched like elastic band getting longer and longer; it seemed to be attached to the floor like a black root. But Crowley continued to pull up. It finally broke free from the floor with a snap; the forefinger flailed around in an ark before returning to a finger length, colour and shape. Crowley took hold of his wrist with her left hand; using her wand with her right hand she pointed it towards the floor where the finger had been and shouted, _“Accio!”_ Nothing happened. She tried again saying, _“Accio wand!”_ Still nothing. She pocketed her wand and plunged her hand deep into the floor. After a moment she pulled the other way. The hand came reluctantly making loud sucking noises as she pulled. But she succeeded in pulling out her hand clutching yet one more wand from the within the floor.  
           _“Five_ wands against a single Hufflepuff?” Crowley said disparagingly as she looked at the wand. It was a very tiny wand, short, gnarled and black. “Seriously?”  
           “Not against,” Sir gasped. He twisted up and looked at them. _“For!_ Something Holly can “find” and “hide” from me,” he added explaining. “Imagine her joy at finding a wand, the delight in casting a spell again, any spell; of keeping it secret, and then the crushing despair when I remove the wand, and her realization it was no secret at all. It’ll cause extreme emotional swings; Holly would eventually realize I had complete control over everything, even her emotions, thus accelerate her acceptance of my authority…  
           Conner thought back of his own joy when, while at Ollivanders, he had found a wand that actually worked for him—and then thought of having that wand taken away over and over again… “That’s, that’s _evil!”_ he said aloud.  
           “There is no “evil,” replied Sir coldly. “Only _success_ and the road to success.”  
           Rupert groaned and sat up. “WH-what happened?” he asked in confusion.  
           “You owe me another galleon!” answered Crowley.  
           “Huh? What do you mean?” Rupert looked about this time with more interest. He noted his location and Conner sitting over Sir with his fist firmly planted on Sir’s shoulder and blood seeping out. “How’d I get over here?” he asked.  
           “If you don’t remember then you were definitely under an _Imperius Curse,”_ Conner told Rupert.  
           “You me that he—” Rupert broke off. “Again?” he asked in disbelief.  
           “If you mean did he almost escape again, then yes,” replied Conner.  
           Rupert looked at Crowley. “How ‘bout another free limo ride,” he suggested hopefully.  
           “Two,” replied Crowley firmly.  
           “Done,” agreed Rupert. “But how’d ya know?”  
           “He’s a Slytherin,” replied Crowley firmly. “Of _course_ he’d think of something else…”  
           “Know any rope-making spells?” Conner asked. He was feeling uncomfortable with just the knife pinning Sir down.  
           “Uh, sorry, no,” said Rupert regretfully.  
           “Use my belt,” said Wycliff while sitting up abruptly. He rapidly removed the belt around his waist and tossed it to Conner.  
           “Good to see you up again,” commented Conner as Wycliff made his way over to him. “My name’s Conner, by the way.”  
           “Mushy walls,” replied Wycliff briefly as he grabbed Sir’s arms and held them together. “Vernon,” he added as Conner pulled the knife out of Sir’s shoulder and wiped it off on Sir’s shirt. Then Conner proceeded to wrap the belt tightly around Sir’s arms.  
           “Glad to meet you,” Conner added completing introductions while they worked.  
           “Nice knife, by the way,” Vernon commented approvingly. “I didn’t know you, ah, lot, carried stuff like that.”  
           “You kidding? How do you think we make our wands?” replied Conner without missing a beat.  
           “You whittle them?” said Vernon in disbelief. “Seriously?”  
           “Naw,” assured Conner. “At least I don’t think so…” He paused thoughtfully. How _did_ they make them? “To tell you the truth,” Conner confessed, “I haven’t the foggiest idea how they make the wands. But it’s hard to cut your meat with a wand…”  
           Vernon laughed. “You got a point.” He laughed again at the joke he had just made.  
           “We’re back!” Conner looked up at the voice. Holly stepped into the room. She was carrying a yellow bag in one hand and a huge framed picture in the other. “What?” she said in confusion while looking around the room.  
           “Everything’s fine,” assured Vernon quickly. He put his hand under Sir’s uninjured shoulder and started to lift. Conner hastened to help. “We just thought it would be easier to watch him from down here…” Together the two lifted Sir to a sitting position. “Hey, it’s the truth!” asserted Vernon looking defiantly at his sister. “Well mostly,” he amended wilting under her accusing eye. Conner decided it must be difficult living with an Empath…  
           While Vernon held onto Sir, Conner removed his shoelaces, tied them together to make a single line, threaded it as high as he could around Sir’s arms and pulled tight. Sir winced in obvious pain at the action but Conner didn’t care tying the shoelaces as tightly as he could. Hopefully that would make it harder for Sir to use those tentacle-like things should he try to change his arms into them…  
           “Woah! What happened?” questioned Roland as he walked into the room. He had his duffle slung over his back and his wand was already out ready for use.  
           “I won the bet,” replied Crowley. She had taken several steps back and leaned gracefully against the wall well out of Sir’s reach. Crowley had pocketed the extra wand, kept her own wand ready and was watching Sir warily even while she spoke.  
           “Told you not to bet her!” said Roland cheerfully. He strode forward and gave Rupert a hand pulling him up to a standing position.  
           “Couldn’t help it,” said Rupert ruefully. “She was so sure of herself and who’d have thought…”  
           “Holly did,” reminded Roland. “That’s why Crowley’s here… So, is everything secure otherwise?”  
           “Think so.”  
           “Then we’d best get out of here.” He nodded towards the doorway from where he had come. Smoke was spilling from it into the room they were in. “Holly? Where to?”  
           Holly lifted the picture frame carrying it while she walked into the center of the room. She turned, faced the table and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them again. “That wall,” she said turning and pointing to the wall behind Crowley. “There’s a garden outside,” she told them. “It’s warded, possibly unplottable but I don’t think so. Can we meet out there?”  
           “We can try,” agreed Roland. He looked around the room and the others nodded their heads. The smoke turned to small flame that spread onto the walls. Abruptly their surroundings changed; the drab gray was replaced by what appeared to be a cheerful interior of an average looking house. They were all squished into the kitchen somehow.  
           “What have you done?” questioned Sir in a dangerous voice while looking at the smoke and flames.  
           “Just some _House_ cleaning,” replied Roland cheerfully without explaining further  
           ‘Wha-what’s happening?” questioned Vernon in an uncertain sounding voice as he looked around the room—a kitchen now totally unlike the gray room of before.  
           “The spells are breaking,” replied Crowley. “We need to get out of here _now!”_ She took the green scarf from around her neck and retied it around her mouth and nose and pointed her wand at the kitchen door. _“Bombardia Maxima!”_ Crowley shouted. The door flew outward. The flames spurted upwards with the added air turning into fiercesome shapes with fanged mouths and clawed feet.  
           “Go on!” Roland said to Holly as the flames circled around them.  
           “But—”  
           “We’re not leaving until we know you’re safely out,” stated Conner firmly. “So go!”  
           Rupert seized the picture frame with one hand, grabbed Holly’s wrist with the other and pulled. She reluctantly went along.  
           _“Glaciem!”_ Crowley shouted while waving her wand in a huge circle in front of her. A line of white ice crystals appeared at the tip of her wand. Crowley continued to circle her wand and the crystals spewed out layer upon layer in a circle making a sort of tunnel that stretched from where she stood to the opening and seemed to hold back the flames. Holly and Rupert ran into the tunnel vanishing within the smoke that rushed through as well. “Go!” Crowley ordered Roland, Vernon and Conner.  
           Roland and Conner lifted Sir and dragged him into the smoky opening with them; Vernon followed. It was cold and slippery inside; Sir began to struggle fiercely. Suddenly Conner felt a thick rope wrap around his body causing him to fall. Looking down, Conner saw Sir had tentacles instead of legs! One was wrapped tightly around him and the other around Roland. Conner could see the tentacle tip waving around Roland’s body no doubt seeking a wand… Conner tightened his grip on Sir’s arm determined to not let go.  
           Then a scream blasted in Conner’s ear and the struggling stopped. The tentacle released its hold on Conner and turned back into a leg. Out of the corner of his eye, Conner saw Vernon’s fist jammed firmly into Sir’s upper thigh. He had no doubt Vernon’s hand held a knife. Coughing heavily, Conner got to his knees and pulled Sir. Roland did the same. Together, the two managed to reach the entry and kind of fell out of the house landing on the gravel of a pathway with Sir still their prisoner. While still coughing, Conner felt other hands pull them further out into the open air and away from the smoke. When he next looked back, fire and smoke poured out of the hole Crowley had created. The outer walls of the cottage were engulfed in flames.


	22. Chapter 22

          Are you O.K.?” Holly Wycliff asked worriedly rushing to Vernon's side while ignoring the fire that raged nearby.  
           “I’m fine,” Vernon answered. Physically, he did seem fine. Mentally was another matter. Vernon’s emotions were a muddle of stress, confusion, fear, revulsion, disorientation and a series of other emotions Holly couldn’t even begin to describe.  
           “I heard a scream,” persisted Holly.  
           It wasn’t Vernon who screamed but someone entirely new; it had to be Sir! Holly had felt the stabbing sensation in his leg as if it were in her own. Now, she could see the blood on Sir’s leg and a gaping hole that hadn’t been there earlier. The sensation of pain had ended once they were safely out of the cottage—Sir was again blocking out his emotions. Sir had been left lying on the pathway and now had a stain of blood on his leg that matched the one in his shoulder. Holly longed to ask what had happened between Sir and the others while she was gone and then again while getting out of the cottage, but knew there would be time for explanations later. She still had one more thing to do, something important …  
           “It was nothing!” insisted Vernon but this time he was lying and didn’t seem to care that Holly would know he was lying.  
           “You owe me another galleon!” stated Paige coolly as she removed the scarf from around her face and proceeded to knot it around her head keeping her long black hair back. Paige’s words confirmed what Holly had already guessed—that Sir had attempted another escape.  
           “What?” said Rupert dismayed. “Again?”  
           “Save it,” said Roland good-naturedly. He was sitting on the ground next to Sir, “This one’s on me.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and handed it to Paige. “After all, it was on my “watch,” so to speak. Though I must confess,” Roland added while looking at Sir, “I’m rather glad you decided to invite Vernon. He’s been very helpful…” Sir glared at Roland and Holly didn’t need to feel Sir’s emotions to recognize the intense hatred that radiated from him.  
           Roland’s words, however, did much to calm Vernon’s fluctuating emotions making her brother feel considerably better.  
           “Exactly what kind of _housekeeping_ did you do?” questioned the Headmaster whose frame was turned in such a way as to enable him to see the cottage too. Rupert had leaned the frame up against the trunk of a small tree.  
           “I think it’s called _Fiendfyre,”_ Holly answered as she looked over at the flames that were leaping up ever higher over the cottage creating fiery shapes resembling lions, serpents and dragons. “It’s supposed to be pretty effective at cleaning things out…” she added absently. The flaming shapes were beautiful, almost hypnotic, but scary at the same time.  
           “It speaks!” exclaimed Sir suddenly. “You speak!” he added looking at the portrait.  
           “Well, duuuh,” said Conner dryly. “Why else would she save it?” He was sitting on the other side of Sir.  
           “I don’t think _Fiendfyre_ is the kind of spell anyone should be using let alone aurors,” said the headmaster to Roland disapprovingly.  
           “This is _Hufflepuff_ business, not auror,” Roland told the portrait firmly.  
           “It will be _Ministry_ business if that fire gets loose in the countryside!”  
           “We told all Hufflepuffs to be on the lookout for fires today. We’ll make sure nothing spreads…” assured Roland.  
           “Who _are_ you?” Sir demanded of the portrait.  
           “That’s Headmaster Snape, of course,” replied Conner in a tone that implied it was information everyone should have known.  
           “And you had no right to use my image, no matter how stylized, without my consent!” the headmaster scolded Sir righteously. “I swore to _protect_ the students of Hogwarts, not _harass_ them!”  
           A loud crumbling sound drew their attention back to the cottage. Holly watched as the cottage suddenly fell inward engulfed by the flames. A huge bubble formed around the flames that shrank smaller and smaller taking the flames with it. “Unplottable!” announced Roland with satisfaction. “See, the fire stays within…” Suddenly several sparks of _Fiendfyre_ broke out of the shrinking bubble and landed on the ground setting grass and plants on fire.  
           Roland immediately jumped up and aimed his wand at the fire. _“Glaciem!”_ he shouted. Ice crystals flew out of the tip of his wand and Roland covered the fire and surrounding area in a blanket of ice.  
           _“Glaciem!”_ shouted Paige covering more ground with ice stopping a second fire from spreading. The fires raged beneath the ice but couldn’t break through. They finally died in a smolder of black.  
           “I know what you’re trying to do!” exclaimed Sir. “You’re trying to destroy my life so I can’t come back!”  
           “Yeah, kind of,” agreed Roland.  
           “Well it won’t work,” he said with certainty. “I’ll rebuild and when I’m finished, or maybe before, I’ll come back for you! All of you!” he promised. “You think you can escape me,” Sir added looking directly at Holly. “But you can’t. This is only temporary. I know everything about you Holly and I shall return for you. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I _will_ come and you shall be _mine!”_  
           Holly gulped forcing back her instinctive fear of Sir. “Yeah, about that,” she said trying to keep the tremor out of her voice and making it sound as casual as possible. “I don’t want anything more to do with you,” she told him.  
           “That’s not going to happen,” Sir assured Holly, his eyes gleaming brightly.  
           “I want my life back,” Holly continued.  
           “I _am_ your life!”  
           “No!” whispered Holly in horror. “That’s not what I want.”  
           “You have no choice.” Sir smiled in triumph. “I’ll be out of Azkaban and coming for you just as I did before and you know it.”  
           “I disagree,” Holly said aloud. But Sir was right, of course. Even though Cousin Harry had assured Holly that Sir was safely locked up in Azkaban prison, a part of Holly hadn’t believed she was safe, had been certain Sir would return; Holly hadn’t been really surprised to see Sir in the compartment with her family; she’d been waiting for something like that to happen ever since Sir had sent that first message after her escape….  
Despite Hufflepuff support Holly was certain nothing short of Sir’s death would free her from his grip. Even that was chancy with ghosts and all. That’s when Cousin Harry mentioned a spell he had once seen performed that was still in effect over twenty-five years later...  
           Holly closed her eyes remembering all the pain and terror of the previous year and of how much she wanted to be rid of Sir... Then she took a deep breath, opened her eyes, resolutely pointed her wand at Sir and said,

          _ **“OBLIVIATE!”** _ The spell struck Sir squarely in the chest blasting him over the area where the cottage had been and into the far hedge bordering the yard where he slid to the ground and lay still.

          “Did I say that with enough _will_ and _intent?”_ Holly turned and asked Headmaster Snape anxiously. Professor Lovegood had always said spells needed sufficient will and intent to work properly.  
           “I think so,” replied the Headmaster dryly. Roland and Rupert had already run into the grass to retrieve Sir before he had a chance to escape. Together they lifted Sir’s unmoving body and brought it back to the group.  
           “Jes ‘nocked out a bit,” pronounced Rupert confidently as they returned, “e’ll be fine.” They set the unconscious Sir down next to the portrait.  
           Holly looked down at Sir. Had her spell worked? Despite the Headmaster’s assurances, she wasn’t certain. “Did you bring it?” she asked Paige worriedly.  
           “Yes,” she replied. Paige followed Holly’s look to Sir. “Now?” she questioned raising an eyebrow.  
           “No,” Holly hastened to assure Paige. “Later, at St. Mungo’s. Like we planned.”  
           “You’re taking him to St. Mungo’s not the Ministry?” questioned the Headmaster in surprise.  
           “Course,” answered Roland. “The Ministry can’t prosecute him in this state.”  
           “It won’t be happy with that,” observed the Headmaster with disapproval.  
           “Not my problem,” replied Roland. “I promised to _fight_ Dark wizards not haul them in for Ministry justice.”  
           “Should I call for the limo now?” questioned Rupert while reaching into his pocket.  
           “Limo?” Holly questioned.  
           “Didn’t think anything less would suit Crowley,” he replied with a grin.  
           “I’m not paying!” Paige said firmly.  
           “On us,” assured Rupert. “As long as we share…”  
           Paige rolled her eyes. “If we _must,”_ she consented reluctantly.  
           Rupert pulled out a dark green and gold card. He cleared his throat and addressed the card in a formal sounding voice. “I wish a ride.”  
           “Time to send your patronus,” Roland told Holly.  
           “You can do a patronus?” questioned Conner with surprise. “Since when?”  
           “Since last year,” replied Holly shyly. She hadn’t told anyone at Hogwarts of her time with Sir and her rescue the previous year, let alone the patronus she had managed to create. “Want to see it?”  
           “Sure!”  
           Holly smiled as she aimed her rainbow wand and then hesitated closed her eyes. Holly searched inward and fixed her mind on the image of Headmaster Snape in emerald green robes standing straight and tall ready to protect her... Then she aimed her wand and shouted, _“Expecto Patronus!”_ A small silvery form shimmered and took shape while the scent of eucalyptus filled the air. Holly waved her wand and caused the resulting kitten to turn several times in a circle. “Like it?” she questioned the others anxiously.  
           “Wow,” said Vernon impressed but then, as Holly rarely did magic in front of him, it wouldn’t take much to impress him.  
           “Beautiful!” said Roland approvingly.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Rupert with envy. “Never could do it right meself.”  
           “A cat?” said Conner with surprise. “I thought they looked like deer.”  
           “A patronus can be any creature,” informed Paige, “it depends on the personality and inclinations of the person casting the spell.”  
           “Really? What’s yours?”  
           “Mine’s a king cobra,” she told Conner proudly.  
           “Why am I not surprised,” commented Roland dryly.  
           Holly made her cat twirl around one more time and then whispered, “Home!” lovingly and shooed it off. The tiny creature sped away and was soon out of sight.

**********

          “Is that it?” questioned Dudley anxiously. “Is that what we’re waiting for?”  
           “I think so,” answered Harry confidently breathing an inward sigh of relief. Holly’s patronus was a kitten that looked just like the one that sat on the table in front of him and no one but Holly or himself could send a patronus to this particular location…  
           “So that means they’re all right?” questioned Laurel worriedly.  
           “Yes.”  
           “Even Vernon?”  
           That had thrown Harry for a bit of a loop. Only that morning Harry had arrived at the Wycliff residence to let them know things were proceeding as scheduled when Dudley met him at the door.  
           “He’s gone!” Dudley said bluntly. “What have you done with him?”  
           “What?” asked Harry blankly.  
           “Vernon!” answered Dudley. “He’s gone! That, that _thing_ came in here and took him away!”  
           “Thing?” echoed Harry. _“Oh, Winky!”_ "Winky took Vernon?” he asked aloud.  
           “That’s what I said!” replied Dudley testily. “It came in here and took Vernon away without a word!”  
           “We tried to get him back, too,” put in Laurel.  
           _“Tried to get him back,”_ thought Harry with sudden horror. Had they just managed to wreck things?  
           “But it, ah, just shook its head and vanished…” she continued.  
           “She said no?” repeated Harry in confusion. _“What had happened????”_  
           “That’s right!” asserted Dillon angrily. “Where’s my boy? I want him back!!!”  
           “Ah,” Harry thought quickly. If Winky had gotten Vernon, it had to be at Holly’s command. No. Holly would never call for Vernon, not willingly. So it had to be a command by Sir _through_ Holly—an _Imperius Curse!_ That was to be expected. Sir would never let Holly use Winky to escape, which was why Holly had given Winky all those commands in advance. But why would Sir call for Vernon? What would he want with a pile of bones? Sir thought Holly’s family was dead, didn’t he? Or did he? Was it possible that Sir knew more than they had supposed? What? Since when? How did that change things?  
           “Vernon’s, fine,” Harry assured Dudley aloud. The youth had to be—there were four wizards, two of whom were aurors there to help Holly. Surely that was enough to keep Vernon safe as well… “And, um, of course the _“Fetch”_ command didn’t work,” Harry added thinking aloud. “Vernon’s seventeen now, isn’t he?” Dudley reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. _“Fetch_ doesn’t work with adults...” Harry reminded softly.  
           “He’s not an adult!” denied Dudley stoutly.  
           “He is in _our_ eyes,” corrected Harry, “and I don’t think Winky knows the difference.”  
           “So how do we get him back?”  
           “We wait.”  
           “Wait?” exploded Dudley. “How long?”  
           “Eight hours,” replied Harry firmly. “Just as planned. Holly’s got to finish what she’s doing first and she needs the time.”  
           “But, Vernon’s not a part of that,” stated Laurel worriedly.  
           “He is now,” informed Harry. “Vernon’ll be fine,” Harry repeated with more confidence than he felt. What had happened wherever they were? “They’ll both be fine…”  
           “And if they’re not?”  
           “If we haven’t heard from Holly after eight hours you call Winky and have her _“Fetch”_ Holly,” Harry told them, “just as we planned.” Having Dudley ready to _“Fetch”_ Holly after eight hours was one more back-up built into the Hufflepuff plan.  
           “And Vernon,” questioned Dudley darkly. “That command won’t help him any better in eight hours than it does now!”  
           “No,” agreed Harry softly. If there really was trouble, they couldn’t just _“Fetch”_ Holly and leave Vernon to face Sir alone… “You tell Winky to _“Fetch”_ Holly the moment she’s holding on to Vernon,” Harry suggested aloud. “Then Winky will bring both home at the same time.”  
           “And if they're never together? If she never has a chance to hold his hand?" questioned Dudley darkly.  
           "Um," Harry thought quickly.  "Well, you could _"Fetch"_ Holly and then _order_ Winky to take me to Vernon like your mum did to find you..."   
           "Maybe,” agreed Dudley grudgingly.  
           “Vernon’s fine too,” said Harry as he looked again at the patronus. “Holly wouldn’t have sent it unless everything was fine,” Harry assured the Wycliffs. “Everything!” Hopefully, that was true. However, in light of Vernon’s unexpected disappearance, Harry tried to think of other ways things could go wrong. If Sir had somehow overcome all the wizards sent against him and now held them and Vernon prisoner, was there any advantage to Sir in sending the patronus? Harry could think of none. No, it would get him (Harry) to leave the Wycliff residence assuming there was no more need for him to stay. If Sir had forced Holly to tell him where the family lived it would be the perfect opportunity to capture them… Except there was no guarantee that Harry would actually leave or when… Abruptly the cat vanished in a shimmer of sparks.  
           “What now?” questioned Laurel.  
           “Now, we relax,” said Harry firmly refusing to believe the patronus had been a trick of some sort. Only Holly could send this particular patronus; Sir’s patronus would look totally different. And a patronus sent under _duress_ would surely not look or behave the same, would it? “I have some errands to run and you can do, ah, whatever you and Dillon do. I’ll bring Holly back sometime tomorrow night after dinner.” Harry had already explained to them that Healer Winonan would want to keep Holly overnight just to be sure… Harry stood to leave.  
           “No, I don’t think so,” said Dudley calmly.  
           Harry stopped. “Oh?”  
           “We’ve waited enough. You need to forget those “errands” and bring them back now!”  
           “But dear,” interposed Laurel hastily.  
           “No, I’ve had it! _“Wait_ until we get things figured out,” you said,” began Dudley. _“Wait_ so he’ll let his guard down and Holly can learn what she needs to defeat him; _wait_ while my son is who-knows-where with some maniac—Well, we’ve waited enough. That ghosty thing was the all-clear signal. That means you’ve captured Sir, doesn’t it? We’re safe then. So I want my family back _now!”_  
           Harry took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped them clean. They weren’t really dirty, but the action enabled him to bite back his instinctive response and plan the words he wanted to say instead. The task the Hufflepuffs had given him had seemed most difficult of all—keep one very worried Xenophobic father and his Muggle family from interfering… Harry would have rather been caged with a Hungarian Horntail dragon!  
           Dudley refused a trip out of the country to keep the family occupied and instead insisted on remaining home where Holly knew where he was, “just in case.” Harry had to resort to nearly daily visits to keep the pacing father from doing more than just pace. Harry also had to intercept the mail so it would remain unanswered and unplug the phone to keep the family’s presence from being officially “known.” Keeping Vernon off the computer had been nearly as difficult. Games were one thing, but when he wanted to answer the email and download stuff Harry judged it too risky; an electrical “overload” finally caused the computer to malfunction…  
           “No,” replied Harry quietly. “I won’t bring your children to you today even if I could which I can’t. I can’t stop you from calling Winky and having her _“Fetch”_ Holly,” Harry added, “but I don’t think Holly would thank you for doing it. Sir terrorized Holly last year and continued to do so even after her escape,” Harry reminded Dudley. “So much so, that Holly was willing to die rather than face the alternative. And when she couldn’t “die” she tried to destroy her memories to keep her friends and family safe. I can’t even begin to imagine what Holly’s been through because frankly, Lord Voldemort only wanted me _dead._ But I do know that if Holly is ever to escape Sir’s shadow, she has to do it herself and not be “rescued.” Holly has to become the _victor_ not the _victim._ It’s just one more day, Dillon,” Harry pleaded, “Surely you can manage one more day, for Holly…”  
           Dudley seemed to deflate like a balloon. He really did love Holly. “One more day?” he questioned seeking reassurance. “You promise?”  
           “I promise,” assured Harry. “Unless the doctor says otherwise. And I’ll tell you if that happens.”  
           “But you’ll be seeing them before then, won’t you?” questioned Laurel.  
           “I will,” agreed Harry, preferably as soon as possible. Harry was as worried about the whole thing as they were. “Sometime today, after they get to the hospital,” he admitted. “And after I do I’ll let you know O.K.?”  
           “O.K.,” agreed Dudley grudgingly. “We’ll be waiting…”

**********

           Harry Potter drew out his wand as he walked down the path to the sidewalk. He stopped at the curb and looked around. It was daylight; too many neighbors might happen to be looking out the windows. Harry pocketed his wand and instead pulled out a small well-worn card. “Stan?” he called.  
           A familiar battered taxi rolled up to the curb. “Allo Arry!” greeted Stan cheerfully after he had gotten out of the cab. “What can I do fer you?”  
           Looking at Stan, Harry suddenly had another idea. It was probably nothing, but Holly’s paranoia was infectious. Perhaps there was a way to do what he wanted to do without leaving the Wycliff family unprotected. “Um,” this was hard to explain. “How’s Rupert,” Harry began hesitantly. Rupert was Stan’s son.  
           “Jes fine,” answered Stan confidently.  
           “Have you seen him lately?”  
           “Why,” asked Stan. Was Stan dodging the question because he knew or didn’t know what was going on with Holly?  
           Harry had worked with both Roland and Rupert on the Hufflepuff “plan” but he didn’t know what Stan knew about their activities. The Hufflepuffs had been very closed mouthed about Holly ever since Harry brought Holly to the attention of Professor Iverson. When requested, Harry had brought Holly to specific locations at specific times presumably for meetings with the Hufflepuffs but Harry had never actually attended or been part of those meetings. Harry knew only what he did as it concerned him. The Hufflepuffs Harry encountered as a part of daily activities never once mentioned Holly even when it appeared they were alone and Harry, pretending to know nothing as well, never brought up her name. Consequently, Harry didn’t know who knew what among the Hufflepuffs.  
           “Think you could give him a message for me?” Harry wasn’t supposed to ask any questions about why he had to wait _five_ hours after the “all clear” before he could meet Holly at St. Mungo’s. However, Harry was fairly certain Rupert was still with Holly wherever she was. And surely the Hufflepuffs knew where Rupert was…  
           “Wot?”  
           Harry pulled out his notebook and a pencil. Then he rapidly wrote, “Worried about Vernon, ask her to send a patronus to the mailbox if all is well…” He signed the note and folded it up. “You can read it if you like,” Harry said as he handed the note to Stan. “It’s very important to me that Rupert gets the message but not necessarily the note as long as he knows it’s from me,” Harry added, “and if you or someone else can’t manage to deliver it to him, I’d like to know that as well. I’ll be waiting right here for a response one way or the other…”  
           “Will do,” replied Stan while putting the note in his pocket. “You seriously going to wait here for a response?” He looked dubiously at the brown grass and sidewalk near the mailbox.  
           “Yes,” replied Harry calmly. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the area without it.”  
           “Thin I’ll do me best.”  
           “Thanks.”  
           Stan got back into the taxi and it sped silently off.  
           Harry looked around the yard for a comfortable place to sit and wait. The front door opened. Dudley and Laurel stepped out. They no doubt had been watching Harry leave, or rather, not leave from inside their house. Dudley walked up to Harry. “You were right about waiting,” Harry told Dudley. “Holly and Vernon should be fine, but we shouldn’t have to wait so long to be certain…”  
           “What have you done?” questioned Dudley.  
           “Asked about Vernon specifically,” replied Harry. Harry would never try to stop whatever it was Holly was doing, but they did have a right to know more… “If Holly and Vernon are fine, then her pat—that ghost thingy should appear at the mailbox.” Harry pulled his coat tightly around his body, sat down on the lawn and made himself as comfortable as possible while facing the mailbox. The ground was cold and hard. It was December. Of course it was cold.  At least there wasn't any snow...  
           “How long?” asked Dudley bluntly.  
           “No idea,” answered Harry honestly. “But no more than five hours… That’s when I’m to meet them at the hospital…”  
           “Five hours?” echoed Laurel. “We’re not even supposed to be here and you plan to sit outside and wait five hours?”  
           “Didn’t want to bother you further,” Harry answered softly. “It’s been a long day already; you’re probably both sick and tired of having me around…”  
           Dudley looked at his wife and then at Harry. Then Dudley sighed and sat down next to Harry—not too close but almost as if they were sitting next to each other and fixed his gaze on the mailbox also. “Wasn’t doing much else today anyway,” Dudley mumbled to no one in particular. His fingers reached blindly into the lawn and pulled at the dead blades of grass tearing them into little bits.  
           Laurel stared in disbelief at the two on the lawn. “Uh, how about I get our coats and fix a picnic tea or something,” she suggested and vanished back inside the house.  
           They were halfway through their meal when a silvery beam of light swirled around the mailbox and coalesced into a familiar kitten. It sat staring at the mailbox for a full minute before exploding in a shower of sparks.  
           “That’s it then,” said Harry with more relief than he could have imagined. Logically knowing they were safe was one thing, knowing for certain was another. There was no way Sir could have ordered that patronus. Only Holly could have sent the patronus and Stan would have never given the message to Rupert had they all been prisoners of Sir… “They’re fine,” Harry announced. “Holly _and_ Vernon.” He stood and brushed off his pants. I’ll be seeing you,” Harry told the Wycliffs and stepped rapidly onto the sidewalk. He had things to do and a very worried wife to update…  
           “Harry?” came Dudley’s voice. Harry stopped and twisted to look back at Dudley.  
           “Thanks.”  
           Harry nodded. “No problem,” he said and swiftly resumed his walk down the sidewalk.                                             


	23. Chapter 23

_“Alohomora!”_ whispered Harry Potter. The heavy chain fell apart as the lock sprung open. It seemed ages since Harry had last used this entrance while struggling to remember what he should have known… Thankfully, his memory had returned and hopefully, the rest would be over soon.  
           Harry opened the door and stepped inside. The Muggle Ward of St. Mungo’s was well lit this time and clearly in use. Harry walked to the end stopping at the first opened door. He found Vernon and Conner inside in deep conversation.  
           “No, I don’t think it was a squid,” said Conner. “The tentacles were just too thick. I think it has to be some sort of Kraken, like these,” Conner turned the pages of a book in his hands and held it open for Vernon to look.  
           “That’s just a comic book!” said Vernon scornfully as he peered at the page. “Krakens don’t exist,” he insisted. “You ever see one?”  
           “Well, no,” admitted Conner, “but there’s a lot of things I haven’t seen. Maybe a baby one?”  
           “That was no baby!”  
           “Baby what?” questioned Harry while announcing his presence.  
           “Cousin Harry!” greeted Vernon while standing hastily. “It’s good to see you!”  
           “Mr. Potter,” acknowledged Conner without standing.  
           “And you,” replied Harry.  
           “Holly’s next door,” Vernon announced, “in case you’re interested.”  
           “That’s good to know,” replied Harry solemnly. “But as long as I’m here, how are you?” he asked as he surveyed the person in front of him.  
           “Fine,” answered Vernon quickly, too quickly.  
           “Are you sure?” questioned Harry and he looked pointedly at Vernon’s stained clothing. It looked a lot like blood to Harry.  
           Vernon looked down too. “Uh, none of that’s mine!” he told Harry. “I swear!”  
           “That’s good to hear,” replied Harry, “but I think we should get you a change of clothing before I return you to your parents…”  
           “Yes, sir.”  
           “And you, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Harry said noting Conner’s clothing was similarly stained. “How are you?”  
           “Not my blood either,” assured Conner confirming Harry’s suspicions about the stains. “I’m fine too.”  
           “That’s good to know,” replied Harry calmly. _“Whose_ blood is it?”  
           The two boys looked at each other before speaking. “Sir’s!” admitted Conner. “I, ah, _stuck_ it to him!” he added with grim satisfaction.  
           _“We_ stuck it to him!” corrected Vernon and suddenly the two boys lifted their hands in a spontaneous high-five. Gone was the suppressed rage Harry had seen in Conner only a few days earlier at Hogwarts when he had mentioned Sir’s name.  
           “I’d like to hear about it,” said Harry warmly.  
           “Sure! Uh, now?” questioned Conner with a hopeful glint in his eyes  
           “Of, course,” agreed Harry. “Well, perhaps I’d best check on Holly first. And then I’ll come back. Something tells me it’s going to be quite a tale and I’ll have all night to listen to it...”  
           “O.K.”  
           Harry left the boys and went into the next room.  
           “Cousin Harry!” greeted Holly warmly when he stepped into room. “It’s so good to see you!” She stood, extended an arm and hugged him.  Harry hugged Holly back relieved to see her in good health. Holly’s other arm was cradling a loudly purring cat, Sasha. The Hufflepuffs had cared for Sasha the last 30 days. They didn’t tell Harry who had her, but Harry could have sworn he saw Sasha looking out the window of Felicity’s Feline Emporium. A perfect place to hide one cat within many…  
           There was a person in the bed with the covers drawn up to his neck. He looked asleep or unconscious. The face looked exactly like the one in the wanted posters for Sir but what caught Harry’s attention more was the right arm that rested outside the covers. “A tattoo?” questioned Harry as he stared at the arm. A scaly pointed tail twisted around the forefinger thickened as it circled the wrist becoming the body of a bearded red dragon with clawed legs that seemed to grip the forearm. Above the dragon was a fiery red bird in flight with feathers that broke off into flames. The flaming wings arched high covering the upper arm and extending onto the chest. “Chinese fireball,” said Harry aloud identifying the dragon, “and the bird?” It looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.  
           “Phoenix,” said Paige firmly. She stood against the wall and stared at Sir with her unblinking black eyes.  Roland and Rupert sat in chairs on either side of Sir's bed.  
           “A new life rising from the flames,” whispered Holly. “Do you like it?”  
           “It’s very beautiful,” replied Harry cautiously. The creatures seemed to pop off the arm and chest; both dragon and bird seemed alive moving with Sir’s every breath. It somehow didn’t seem right that the terror of Holly’s life should be given such a beautiful tattoo.  
           “And functional,” said Roland proudly. “It’s for the Ministry,” Roland added explaining. “The ink is special; it won’t morph when he does—no matter what identity Sir assumes, the tattoo will remain. Check the arm if you suspect the person you are talking to might be Sir…”  
           And it wasn’t the only tattoo Harry could see. On Sir’s left hand was a black and red tattoo—it looked almost alive, some sort of creature with curves and points that ran down Sir’s thumb and forefinger. That’s a stylized Celtic tribal design,” said Rupert noting Harry’s gaze.  
           “Vernon suggested the one on the eye,” added Holly drawing Harry’s attention to the green spot on Sir’s right eyelid. Looking closer, Harry realized it was of a tiny green beetle. It had a shiny iridescent shell and looked so realistic that Harry was certain it would fly off. “He said he saw some really cool stuff on the eyelids of people in a restaurant he was in once… Look!” added Holly excitedly. She pointed her wand at Sir’s head. _“Sir!”_ she said firmly. A faint scent of eucalyptus wafted forth and a thick bright red letter “S” appeared on Sir’s right cheek. Then it faded and the cheek looked regular again. “Sir could always wear gloves and put on pancake make-up,” said Holly as she looked at Sir’s face, “but he won’t know about this tattoo. He can’t protect against it! I know he’ll probably never leave the hospital but a part of me is convinced otherwise. Any time I think someone practicing Occlumency might be Sir I can point my wand at the person’s cheek, say _“Sir”_ and I’ll know for sure! Try it!” she encouraged Harry. “Go on!”  
           Harry pulled out his wand, pointed it at Sir’s face and said _“Sir!”_ Nothing happened.  
           “It only works for me!” Holly explained excitedly. “It’s a personal tattoo!”  
           “It’s a Slaver’s Tatt,” corrected Paige, “a mixture of blood and magic ink used as a way to brand the slaves without disfiguring them—ultimate proof of ownership if necessary. The practice fell out of popular use after slavery became illegal…”  
           “Whatever,” said Holly grimacing at the description. “It’s my ultimate guarantee that Sir is not hiding behind every person I see… And look,” she added while pointing her wand at Sasha. _“Sir!”_ Holly said firmly. The scent of eucalyptus again wafted forth but this time one of Sasha’s gray ears turned black. “I’m going to use Sasha to practice on,” explained Holly. “I’m going to learn to say _“Sir”_ as a silent command so no one will know what I’m doing.” Sasha’s black ear suddenly returned to its original gray.  
           _“Sir!”_ Holly commanded again pointing her wand at Sir causing the red “S” to again appear on his cheek and more eucalyptus scent to swirl around. “I’ve got a lot of practicing to do,” she confessed.  
           “Seriously, if ya want ta keep yer activities secret. Ya might want ta use a different wand,” Rupert suggested good naturedly while using his hand to fan away the eucalyptus scent.  
           Holly blushed. “Uh, right,” she agreed and returned her rainbow wand back to its pocket.  
           “Perhaps you’d like to use this,” Harry suggested as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a honey coloured wand. “Recognize it?” he added handing the wand to Holly.  
           “Lil—uh, the Headmaster’s wand!” Holly said delightedly. “Wherever did you find it?”  
           “Actually, Vernon did,” admitted Harry. “Last year. It’s how we knew Sir was somewhere near Smeltings.”  
           “And you never told me!” Holly scolded.  
           “Couldn’t,” replied Harry. “Didn’t want to risk Vernon’s safety. Sir was obviously watching both of you.”  
           “Except he isn’t Sir anymore,” put in Rupert. “His name is Devon Henderson. Named after the very brave Muggle who rescued him from that burning building and tragically died afterwards as a result of smoke inhalation…” he added piously.  
           “They have no intention of turning Sir over to the Ministry for justice,” put in the acidic voice of Headmaster Snape. His portrait was leaning up against the second bed in the room where he could observe the proceedings. “Seeing as how Sir probably cannot remember the crimes for which he would be accused…”  
           “Hey, the Ministry had its chance and Sir escaped,” said Rupert defensively. “This has got to be permanent!”  
           _“Death_ would be permanent,” retorted the Headmaster bluntly.  
           “But we’re not murderers!” answered Roland. “And we’re saving the Ministry the cost of a trial and Holly from having to relive everything and testify… Mr. Henderson is a bit of a mystery, however,” Roland continued informatively. “The house he was rescued from burned down completely and was not a known wizard residence location. Since no one recognizes him, his family probably went into hiding during the days of Lord Voldemort, and anyone who knew them is long dead. They are no doubt one of those many families that went missing and was presumed dead which explains why we know nothing about them or him…”  
           “Or why he has a tattoo of a dragon and a phoenix on his arm…” whispered Holly her green eyes were fixed on the arm.  
           “A Squib visitin’ a frien’ in a Muggl’ ‘ospital spotted th’ tattoo when Mr. Henderson was brought inta the emergency ward,” continued Rupert. “Realized the tattoo wus wizard, and got ‘im taken ta St. Mungo’s…”  
           “That’s the story going in the records of St. Mungo’s,” said Holly. “People without a name or history might look for one…”  
           “And we wouldn’t want that to happen…” concluded Roland.  
           “Except he still looks like Sir,” reminded Harry bluntly. “That memory charm in the _Prophet_ is going to be lifted and people will recognize him for who he is!”  
           “Professor Lovegood has a book on hexes,” replied Holly softly. “I can hex hair brown coloured and make eyes green... I don’t know if hexes will last with a metamorphmangus, but it would be long enough to cast doubt. No one could say which appearance is truly Mr. Henderson’s. Perhaps Mr. Henderson saw Sir’s image in the paper, liked it and took it for his own… Healer Winonan has already made arrangements for Mr. Henderson to stay at St. Mungo’s as long as necessary. He’ll let us know if there is any indication of Mr. Henderson’s memory returning and then, well, we’ll see… It would be help, though, if you explained things to Wizard Thomas… If Wizard Thomas isn’t actively hunting for Sir, then people will move on to other things and forget…”  
           Harry looked at Holly. “You want me to square all this with Dean?” he asked in disbelief. She nodded. “Seriously?”  
           Holly nodded again. “Please?” she added fixing her emerald green eyes on his.  
           Harry rolled his eyes. “But that means I’ll owe _him_ …”

**********

          Paige Brenna Crowley withdrew the small potion bottle from her pocket. She was sitting in a chair across from Sir—he would never be Mr. Henderson to her. The others had retreated to the next room to tell Mr. Potter how Sir had been captured. Paige remained behind to watch Sir. She didn’t need to join the others. She’d been there and already knew how. Besides, she had other things to do… Paige stood and walked over to Sir’s side.  
           “What’s that?”  
           Paige started at the unexpected sound and then realized it came from the portrait of Headmaster Snape. Why did Wycliff value it so? It wasn’t as if he was a Hufflepuff… _“Oblitus,”_ Paige answered. She wasn’t doing anything secretive or wrong. Wycliff had even suggested it as a back-up…  
           “Isn’t that a waste of a perfectly good potion?”  
           “I need to be _certain!”_ Paige answered with repressed fury. “Would you trust that to a 4th year _Hufflepuff?”_  
           “Probably not,” agreed the Headmaster, “though the spell _was_ performed rather well. Certain about what?” he questioned curiously. “Set-ups happen all the time.”  
           “He used my potions against me!”  
           “Then perhaps you should save that for Umbridge,” suggested the Headmaster. “I understand she made good use of _Serenity_ …”  
           _“How??? Of course, Wycliff told McGonagall before she talked with Tom and the Headmaster would have been listening…”_ “Aunty D. is family,” replied Paige aloud. “She’d never give me up to an outsider.”  
           “We’re _all_ related somehow.” reminded the headmaster, “and Sir had _Serenity.”_  
           “Sir worked at Borage publications,” replied Paige. “DeWolfe told me; Sir collected rejected potions from there—Aunty D. got _Serenity_ rejected… Aunty D. never gave it to him.”  
           _“Aunty D._ would sell you out in a minute if it suited her needs and you know it,” retorted the Headmaster.  
           “Then I’ll make more…” Paige said with determination.  
           “Do that,” agreed the Headmaster. “On second thought, your time would be better spent researching selective memory spells something potions cannot accomplish. It is one thing to erase the life of somebody no one knows anyway and quite another to do that to Umbridge. She has too many friends and contacts to make that possible.  
           “Selective memory spells only work on Muggles!” said Paige disdainfully.  
           “I once knew a rather inept wizard who was a rather successful author; he professed to be a dark wizard hunter though in truth he was a sniveling coward who never did any of the things he claimed to have accomplished in his books.”  
           “Your point?”  
           “The idiot couldn’t have killed a fly let alone another wizard yet the unnamed wizards who actually accomplished what the coward claimed to have done never came forth, never complained. As there was no a rash of amnesiacs reporting to St. Mungo’s at the time I presume the coward found a way to successfully erase that specific event from their minds without disturbing the rest of the memories…”  
           That was interesting. “The coward’s name?” questioned Paige.  
           “Lockhart,” replied the Headmaster. “Gilderoy Lockhart.”  
           Paige recognized the name. “Didn’t he save a Weasley from the monster within the Chamber of Secrets?” It was a standard assumption repeated by numerous Slytherins at Hogwarts and the action didn’t sound cowardly at all. After all, Potter was only a 2nd year student and Lockhart was a Dark Wizard Hunter. Who was better qualified to defeat some unnamed monster? Paige had never heard Lockhart referred to as a coward.  
           “Unlikely,” said the Headmaster scornfully. “Lockhart couldn’t even manage a wizard duel successfully.”  
           “Interesting,” Paige murmured. She knew Lockhart had been admitted into St. Mungo’s after the incident with the Chamber of Secrets. What had happened after that? Who would know? “Why are you helping me?” Paige asked abruptly.  
           “Abuse of _Serenity_ affects the whole wizard community,” replied the Headmaster. “It’s only a matter of time before Umbridge decides to use it on someone else…”  
           He was right, of course, but as Aunty D. had already pulled the potion recipe from Borage Publications, Paige was fairly certain she would not only keep it safe but not share it with anyone else… Nor, she suspected, did Aunty D. know about _Serenity’s_ airborne qualities… “First things first,” Paige said aloud. She reached down and lifted Sir’s head.  
           He stirred and opened his eyes. “Do I know you?” he questioned in a sleepy voice.  
           “Do you?” she asked softly. Sir had wakened on and off throughout the day. Paige had no idea what he had seen or heard but she had kept her distance while the others worked…  
           “I don’t think so…”  
           That was promising but not enough for Paige. “Drink this,” Paige whispered while holding the potion bottle close to his lips.  
           “Why?”  
           “It’ll help you sleep,” Paige told him. Eight hours of sleep plus the _Oblitus_ —a full dose, enough to erase a lifetime, not just a few hours. “When you wake you’ll feel much better…” she assured him.  
           “Oh.” Sir opened his mouth and Paige poured the potion in. She’d given it an orange-raspberry flavour so he wouldn’t feel the need to choke or gag on it. When she was satisfied he had drunk all the potion, Paige gently put Sir’s head back on the pillow. Sir started to snore softly. He _deserved_ Azkaban and all its terrors but then he would remember _Serenity_. Perhaps this was better, if it worked.  
           “Did you do it?”  
           Paige looked up in surprise and saw Wycliff standing in the doorway, her cat still cradled in her arms. _“How had she known?”_ Of course, emotions! Sir had woken up. For a brief moment, Paige wondered what kind of range Wycliff actually had but the answer was inconsequential. There were too many wizards who practiced Occlumency to make Wycliff’s skill at detecting emotions useful. The situation would have been very different had Wizard Ercwlff /Sir succeeded with his marketing of Sorbi/Sorbitum. Then the emotions of nearly every wizard in Great Britain would have been open to Wycliff. No wonder Sir had been so angry at Paige for making _Harmony,_ a potion that countered Sorbi.  
           “Yes,” Paige answered with her characteristic, brevity.  
           “Sleep too?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “How long?”  
           “Eight hours.”  
           “Good. I want to be there when he wakes.” Paige raised an eyebrow at that. “Not where he can see me,” Wycliff hastened to add, “but where I can _sense_ him!”  
           “Emotions change,” Paige informed her neutrally. What must it be like to recognize people through their senses?  
           “I know,” Wycliff said, “but I want to sense them anyway. I need to be sure.”  
           “Then I will be there with you,” Paige informed Wycliff softly. Logically she knew her potions were good but she needed to see for herself that they worked as intended.

**********

          “That’s Sir?” questioned Dean while looking at the patient lying in the bed at St. Mungo’s. Even though the appearance matched the one on the Wanted Poster, it didn’t look quite right. Maybe it was the way the hair was brushed, or the black and white panda bear pajamas he wore, or the plush brown teddy bear with the pink bow in his arms, but somehow this person looked mild and harmless compared to the menacing image on the poster.  
           “Yep,” answered Harry. They were standing in a room of St. Mungo’s on the Muggle side looking though a window at Sir in the room beyond. He couldn’t see them; the window looked like a mirror on Sir’s side, not that Sir would have been interested in their presence. Sir was watching a Himalayan kitten, long fur, white with black points and blue eyes on his bed bat playfully at a black and gold butterfly.  
           “How do you know?” asked Dean. The butterfly fluttered up; Sir’s head and eyes followed the motion.  
           “Holly told me.” The kitten leaped up high in an unsuccessful attempt to catch the butterfly.  
           “Yeah,” said Dean unconvinced.  
           Dean still didn’t remember Holly. Harry, sensing Dean would resent any Hufflepuff “help” in shaking the effects of the memory charm, had elected to not try using Flash Paper.  
           Harry had started the evening with a good dinner. Then Ginny had discretely retired so Harry could talk to Dean in private. Actually, Ginny had taken Kreacher, left the house and spent the night with her parents; Harry wanted no witnesses; Dean would want no witnesses.  
           Harry started with an older newspaper and had Dean try to read it upside down… When Dean asked the inevitable, “Who’s Holly?” Harry had handed Dean the paper recounting Holly’s rescue that also contained the Ministry’s Wanted Sketch of Sir… Of course Dean was inclined to believe it was all some elaborate hoax. Then Harry told Dean the things that logically he shouldn’t know —that Paige was an auror; that _Serenity_ could be used to insure a person under an _Imperius Curse_ stayed that way, that the carnation Dean now wore was more than a decorative addition to the Ministry uniform: it could reveal the presence of _Serenity_ … Dean was pretty shaken and then he was angry. Angry that Harry hadn’t brought all this to Dean’s attention back in September! Angry that Harry had been running an operation to capture this Sir without involving Dean!  
           That’s when Harry gave Dean the folder. It was a folder Roland had given Harry, something he had found within Sir’s things. The folder contained numerous newspaper clippings that mentioned Dean. There was also a detailed set of observations dating from that summer —where Dean went, when and with whom he talked… The folder included a list of names, neatly labeled as “known” and “suspected” aurors. Both Roland DeWolfe and Ravendra Vasari’s names were on that list, (Ravendra was “suspected.”) Paige’s name was not on the list.  
           The information had been placed chronologically—the oldest on the bottom, the most recent on top. Consequently, the thing that greeted Dean’s eye first was a stack of papers dated the same day as Pilkington’s ball… It was a list of names, all persons known personally by Dean. Some were Ministry employees; others were not, each name was accompanied by detailed descriptions of mannerisms, habits, likes, dislikes, personality traits… There was no doubt in Harry’s mind from whom Sir had gotten that information, nor in Dean’s. Dean turned white with fury. Dean was an auror; aurors, in theory, could not say or do anything in contradiction to their vows yet Sir had walked away from Dean with a pile of information. The information was not in contradiction to any vow, totally inconsequential, unless the person collecting it happened to be a metamorphmangus looking for people to impersonate…  
           Harry was certain Dean would have been willing to cast a killing curse at that moment had Sir been in front of him—failing that, cast the same curse on the Hufflepuffs who prevented Dean from taking Sir down! It had taken several bottles of elfin wine to finally calm Dean down enough to accept what had happened to Sir, but he wasn’t happy about it. “He should receive a Dementor’s Kiss!” Dean had exclaimed furiously.  
           “I know,” agreed Harry. Roland had given Harry a similar looking folder found among Sir’s things. It contained detailed information about Harry: everything and anything concerning him and the Durselys, the Wycliffs _and_ Lord Voldemort! It was all neatly sorted into confirmed facts vs. rumour. There were newspaper clippings, recent observations, and most disturbingly, references to horcruxes and the location of the Elder wand. That final information could have only been obtained from himself, Ron or Hermione… It boggled the mind to think from whom Sir might have gotten it …  
           “And how do I know it’s Sir?” questioned Dean suspiciously bringing Harry’s mind back to the present and the vacant face of the person before them. The kitten had lost interest in the butterfly and was now licking one of Sir’s fingers…  
           “Uh, Mr. DeWolfe says so,” replied Harry mildly. “And Miss Crowley…” Harry saw Roland slip a third folder to Paige. He wondered what kind of information Sir had on her… “They’re aurors,” reminded Harry. “If you can’t trust them…” Dean winced involuntarily; Harry shouldn’t have known that information were it not for Sir and Harry knew Dean still couldn’t remember Sir.  
           “Who did it?” demanded Dean abruptly.  
           “Did what?”  
           “Turned him like, like this?” Sir moved his fingers slightly and watched the kitten bat them.  
           “I couldn’t say,” replied Harry blandly. Dean snorted in disbelief. Even after a visit to see Lockhart, Dean refused to believe any memory spell would be permanent… “I wasn’t there,” Harry added explaining though Harry was quite certain it was Holly’s doing. “I couldn’t swear to anyone doing it with certainty.”  
           “And the tatts?”  
           “I didn’t see that happen either,” replied Harry innocently. “But you could ask around. Surely there aren’t that many wizards who do tattoos…” Of course, Harry doubted any of them would talk either. Was it illegal to do what they did? Harry didn’t know, wouldn’t inquire either.  
           A nurse came into Sir’s room with a tray of food. “Time to eat, Mr. Henderson,” she told him cheerfully. He looked at her and tray blankly. The nurse set the tray down on the table next to Sir. Then she set a bowl of milk at the end of the bed for the kitten and adjusted Sir’s bed so he was in a seated position. Next, the nurse lifted Sir’s right hand and folded the fingers around a spoon.  
           “And if he decides to change his appearance?” asked Dean. With the nurse’s hand holding his, Sir filled the spoon with something resembling porridge.  
           “Then trust the tattoos,” answered Harry. “They’re special tattoo designs that won’t change when Sir does…” The nurse guided Sir’s hand up to his mouth  
           Dean snorted in disbelief. How did one test something like that without getting Sir to change his shape and if he no longer remembered how to change his shape, they’d never know for sure… “It’s no prison,” persisted Dean. “He’ll escape!”  
           “Open wide,” the nurse instructed. “Very good,” said the nurse approvingly when Sir obediently opened his mouth. She then helped Sir put the spoon in his mouth.  
           Escape or released? Healer Winonan had not yet determined whether Sir was left with permanent short-term memories, like Lockhart, or would be able to develop longer memories like a child starting over. If he could develop longer memories then “Devon Henderson” would create new memories, ones that had nothing to do with Sir and could possibly be allowed to leave the hospital to start a new life... Harry shoved that possibility aside to worry about in the future.  
           “He escaped from Azkaban,” reminded Harry aloud as the nurse continued to feed Sir. After Conner mentioned the tentacles, Harry had a good idea how Sir had escaped from Azkaban. He knew Dementors did not take animals seriously; that was how Sirius had escaped. Sir must have turned himself into an animal as well. When this was all over and Dean was in better mood, Harry would have to have a conversation with him on how to make Azkaban more secure.  
           “So you say but surely not as easily as he could from here,” retorted Dean still unwilling to believe such an escape had occurred in the first place. “He’s going to escape,” repeated Dean with certainty. “What’ll we do then?”  
           “Then, we’ll use this,” replied Harry. He pulled out a small dark bottle, corked and sealed, and handed it to Dean.  
           The nurse released Sir’s grip on the spoon and set the spoon back on the tray. Then she brought a green cup filled with liquid to Sir’s lips. “Are you thirsty” she asked Sir. “Would you like something to drink?”  
           “What’s this?” asked Dean as he took the bottle and looked at it curiously.  
           “Tattoo ink,” replied Harry. “The same as was used on Sir. You can use it to put a tracking spell on Sir to find him.” Harry had his own bottle of ink, as did Holly, Roland, Conner, and Paige. Harry was certain there was also a bottle or two in hiding with the Hufflepuffs—back-up upon back-up. There would be ink to use to track Sir if ever it was needed.  
           The nurse set the cup back on the tray and picked up the kitten’s empty milk bowl as well. Then she used a napkin to wipe off Sir’s face. Harry could hardly see the beetle tattoo while Sir was awake and then only when he blinked. The kitten curled up sleepily against Sir’s leg. “Why don’t you play with this?” the nurse suggested and handed Sir a baby’s colour ball. Actually, the nurse placed it in front of Sir and it hovered over his lap when she let go. There were six different colours on the ball. The nurse lifted Sir’s left hand and moved it to touch the ball. “Red,” she said firmly. He smiled in delight when the area she had him touch started flashing red and the ball began to spin slowly.  
           When the ball stopped spinning the nurse moved Sir’s hand to touch a different colour on the ball. “Blue,” she told him as the light flashed and the ball began to spin.  
           “It’ll never work!” Dean protested as they watched the blue light and the ball spin.  
           “Oh?”  
           “The moment you drop that memory charm people are going to start remembering,” he began. “Sooner or later someone will remember Sir and start asking questions. “Where is he?” “Why haven’t we caught him?” What do I say? That we’re still looking when we’re not or we quit looking and leave it at that? Either way will make us look like the biggest bumbling fools ever. Or should I tell them the truth—that Sir caught us in one of his spells and not only did we let the Hufflepuffs take justice in their own hands, we’re not even prosecuting them for it afterwards? No matter what I say, the credibility of our department drops to zero and the whole Ministry goes down the tubes!”  
           Harry considered Dean’s words. He certainly didn’t want Dean or the Ministry hurt over this.  
           “Yellow,” said the nurse to Sir.  
           “You _did_ capture him,” Harry reminded softly. “And I don’t remember reading anything about him escaping… Perhaps he didn’t…”  
           “Like we would let someone languish away in Azkaban without a proper trial? How’s that make us sound?”  
           “Well, maybe he died first,” suggested Harry. After all, erasing Sir’s memories was kind of like a death… “Couldn’t take the dementors… not everyone can, you know,” Harry continued while thinking aloud. “Remember what a bad time I had with them? “Terribly frustrating” Harry added fabricating a response to an imagined question, “to be unable to have a trial, but Sir died soon after he was taken to Azkaban which was why there was no big press release about his capture. There was no way you could have known and no way it was the wrong person; there were several auror witnesses to Sir’s capture who also escorted him to Azkaban… You are now looking into other suitable locations to place detainees awaiting for trial so something like that never happens again…” Harry stopped and took a breath. “I’m sure we can get Winonan to back you up with a suitable death certificate…” he added encouragingly.  
            “Well, maybe,” agreed Dean grudgingly. “But the story will never hold up once Rita gets her claws into it…”  
           “No need to worry about Rita,” assured Harry. He had gone to Rita first to get the memory charm removed, preferring to tackle Rita over Dean on the subject. Rita was furious that one of her weekend employees (a “Sir” alias, name provided by Roland) had been sneaking in to set the charm and keep it going… “Rita has agreed to keep quiet about the whole thing,” Harry told Dean, “as long as you agree to not charge her with memory tampering!” Rita had not been personally responsible, but as the employer, she was liable…  
           “I think I can agree to that,” said Dean slowly.  
          The ball had stopped spinning and hung suspended over Sir’s lap. He stared at it without moving. “Purple,” said the nurse firmly and placed his hand on the corresponding colour. The ball lit up and began to spin. Sir smiled.  
           Dean sighed audibly. “Very well,” he said. “I won’t go after the Hufflepuffs on this,” Harry let out his own mental sigh of relief. “…on one condition…”  
           Harry tensed immediately. “What?” he questioned cautiously.  
           “That you square all this with Kingsley. If this does come out, Harry, I don’t want him caught unawares…”  
           “Agreed,” Harry said after a moment while frowning as if in distress at the prospect. “You free for dinner tomorrow night? I could invite Kingsley and you and I could—”  
           “I’ve a headache!” replied Dean promptly. “You’re on your own for this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a Department to run and an inventory to make—I got this tip we are missing some of our papers….” Dean turned to leave.  
           “Wait!” called out Harry.  
           “See you later,” said Dean as he opened the door and vanished quickly from view, no doubt trying to leave before Harry had a chance to try and change Dean’s mind.  
           Harry looked back at Sir. The nurse had removed the baby’s ball and had placed an enchanted child’s quill in his hand. It drew colored lines in the air at every movement of the hand. Sir was happily looking at the squiggles he had created. Then Harry made his own exit. He had to meet up with Ginny, let her know it was O.K. to return home and alert her about dinner with Kingsley. It would be good to be able to have a meal with him without sneaking about.  
           Kingsley already knew about Holly, Sir, the _Prophet_ and the memory charm. Harry had needed Kingsley’s help to get the Muggle Knighthood for Gordon Smythe. Of course, Kingsley didn’t know the rest of the details and Harry had promised to fill him in when he could… Now would be as good a time as any…


	24. Chapter 24

           “Hi.”  
           Kenny Perkins looked up at the familiar blond person in front of him. “You’re back!” he said with ill concealed anger.  
           “Uh, yeah,” replied Vernon. Vernon looked fine—no lumps or bruises, the perfect picture of health.  
           “Been in the Americas?” Kenny accused. That’s what the word was—a 3-month stay in a prestigious school in Canada as an exchange student complete with transfer scores upon his return. Never mind the fact that last September the office people had emphatically told Kenny that Vernon was no longer enrolled in Smeltings. They now denied having said anything of the sort and instead brought out all Vernon’s transfer paperwork and scores as if they had been there all along…  
           “Uh, I have a picture,” Vernon said in a hopeful sounding voice.  
           “Think you could have found the time to write?” Kenny asked sarcastically as Vernon dug around in his bag. “Let me know where you were? What you were up to? Maybe a phone call or an email? I mean I know it’s backwards in the Americas, but not that backwards!”  
           “Yeah,” Vernon agreed as he pulled out a framed photo and handed it to Kenny.  
           “I was worried!” Kenny told him. Vernon sort of hung his head looking guilty.  
           Kenny glanced at the sepia brown image showing Vernon and some other person dressed in cowboy clothing armed with guns challenging Kenny’s assumption of “not backwards.” “And this,” Kenny added disparagingly while tossing the photo on the bed behind him, “looks more like some sort of slick photo from, from one of those fancy photo shops, than anything from Canada!” Even Kenny knew Canada wasn’t filled with cowboys!  
           “Uh, yeah,” agreed Vernon. “It is.”  
           The ready agreement startled Kenny. He looked at Vernon again. “So, where’s it from?”  
           “Uh, Chessington?”  
           Chessington? Kenny looked at the photo again. He knew Vernon had visited Chessington the previous year.  
           “That’s my cousin Albus next to me,” Vernon said over Kenny’s shoulder.  
           “You weren‘t in Canada were you?” questioned Kenny, a little less angrily. He looked closer at the person next to Vernon. Yeah, the head and chin: the boy did look a bit like the shadowy man who was introduced to him as Cousin Harry last year …  
           “No.”  
           “Where were you?”  
           “Uh, home?”  
           “Home?” Kenny looked up at Vernon, anger flaring up again.  
           “Most of the time, I think.”  
           “And you never wrote?” Kenny demanded. “Didn’t answer your calls?! I thought you were in trouble!”  
           “Well, I was!” Vernon said defensively. “Some of the time,” he amended.  
           “While you were home?” retorted Kenny acidly.  
           “Well, not then,” Vernon agreed. “It’s rather difficult to explain…”  
           “Try!”  
           “We were on the train,” Vernon began, “and then we weren’t and it was September… And Cousin Harry said that Sir had, you know, captured us, but I don’t really remember that and then we were free, and then Holly, well, she was so messed up and—I wanted to call you really, I did, but Cousin Harry wouldn’t let me—said it was too dangerous…” Vernon concluded lamely.  
           “Dangerous at home?” questioned Kenny derisively. “Yeah, right!”  
           “Well, not for me,” Vernon tried to explain, “but for the plan—They wanted to catch Sir!”  
           “Like I would of told anyone!” retorted Kenny.  
           “Of course not!” agreed Vernon promptly. “It’s just that, well, they knew Sir was watching Smeltings! And if you walked around knowing something about me Cousin Harry was certain Sir would find out! I was going to slip you a message anyway, but then the internet went down… and the phones… and then my computer broke…” Vernon sat down on the bed next to Kenny. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Actually, I think Cousin Harry had something to do with all that,” Vernon confessed. “He, ah, was really serious about no outside contact…”  
           Kenny sighed. “The internet too?” he questioned in disbelief.  
           “Yeah, I think so,” replied Vernon. “Funny how everything seems to be working just great now…”  
           “Well, he needn’t have bothered,” said Kenny, “No one cared what happened to you after they got that letter your father sent pulling you out of school…”  
           “Father never sent a letter,” said Vernon.  
           “I even tried the police,” continued Kenny. “They said a full message box and the fact that you didn’t text or email back was no reason for concern… And I didn’t know your physical address. Do you realize you’ve never told me where you actually live? Besides, there were no unidentified bodies answering to your description…” Kenny suddenly looked at Vernon. “Your father never sent the letter?”  
           “No.”  
           “Well, who did? It’s not there now!” Vernon didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Kenny suddenly shivered. Sir _had_ been there somewhere… “There was only one person at school who actually took me seriously,” Kenny said suddenly. “Mr. Ballytwirk.”  
           “The librarian?”  
           “Yeah. He knew how worried I was. He even went with me to the police when I filed the missing persons report,” informed Kenny. “Thought they’d take the report more seriously if an adult came along… Then he checked up there later several times to see if there was any news, not that there was…” Kenny added glumly. “Mr. Ballytwirk even called up for me when I saw that photo of the fugitive that looked like Holly in the paper…”  
           “I remember that,” replied Vernon. “Cousin Harry came by, thought it was some plot by Sir to locate my grandparents and was worried we might call the tip line… Made father call grandfather to make sure… Phone worked fine that day… Where’s Mr. Ballytwirk now?” Vernon asked curiously.  
           “Leave of absence,” replied Kenny. “Been gone for a month. His niece has terminal cancer and he wanted to care for her…”  
           “Oh.”  
           “His house caught fire a few weeks ago,” Kenny informed Vernon as an afterthought. “Fierce flames. The firemen couldn’t put them out! The house burned to the ground. Good thing Mr. Ballytwirk wasn’t there at the time,” Kenny added thoughtfully. “They think it was arson. Mr. Ballytwirk would have been hurt bad or worse had he been there. Course, it might never have happened had he stayed…”  
           “Mr. Ballytwirk was Sir,” said Vernon softly.  
           “What???” exclaimed Kenny in disbelief. “No! He doesn’t look anything like that picture Holly showed us!”  
           “He, ah, was, ah, very good at disguises,” Vernon replied vaguely. “Holly found this book, a journal, among his stuff, and he wrote in it that he didn’t connect me with Holly until he saw a photo in the news with, ah, somebody in a Smeltings uniform… Then he realized he knew something nobody else did and decided to take advantage of it…”  
           “But, his niece!” exclaimed Kenny unable to believe the sorrowful Mr. Ballytwirk who had told him the sad story of his dying niece was really the villainous Sir. “He was so upset…”  
           “Holly,” answered Vernon. “He made Holly call him Uncle John.”  
           “His house? The fire?”  
           “Holly did that!” answered Vernon. “She wanted to make sure nothing of Sir’s got into anybody else’s hands…” Vernon reached out, picked up the photo and returned it to his bag. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said softly, “truly I am but…”  
           Kenny sighed. “Yeah, it’s not as if you could have done much about it… not with the internet down and such… Besides, Mr. Potter was probably right, I would have told Mr. Ballytwirk had you contacted me and even if I hadn’t he would have known; he knew how upset I was and often asked me if I had any news—” Kenny gulped not wanting to think about it… “So did you get him? Sir?” he asked changing the subject.  
           “Yep!” said Vernon with obvious satisfaction. “Want to hear about it?”  
           “Sure,” agreed Kenny.  
           “Perkins!”  
           Kenny looked up. Brad Pittman was in the doorway. Kenny sensed rather than saw Vernon tense up at his presence.  
           “Uh, maybe later on that story,” said Kenny. “Brad is here for tutoring.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “A lot has happened around here since you left,” said Kenny explaining. “Montague got engaged to Ibbot; Trevors is dating Yoxall. I heard they’re talking marriage too. That kind of left Pittman here high and dry. So we came to an agreement; I help Brad with his schoolwork and he leaves off bullying—unless it’s to intimidate someone else trying to become a bully... So far it’s been working. Want to help with the tutoring,” Kenny offered. “After all, you passed these classes last year. And then you could tell us all about your experience in the, uh, “Americas.”  
           “Uh, sure,” said Vernon in an uncertain sounding voice. Probably the nearness to Brad caused much of it. Brad had been pretty nasty last year; it would be a hard mental adjustment to think of him differently. Or it could be Vernon was trying to think up some convincing tale about his supposed time in Canada… That part served him right! Brad sat down in the other chair, pulled his books out and plopped them on Kenny’s desk.  “Uh, what about Miranda?” Vernon asked hesitantly as he reached out, took one of Brad’s books off the desk and thumbed through it idly.  
           “She thought it was pretty rude of you to not reply,” answered Kenny. “But otherwise figured you were fine wherever you were or your father wouldn’t have sent the letter… Couldn’t explain why I was so worried so Miranda thought I was over-reacting. Apparently you need a dead body before people take things seriously around here… Never thought to question the letter…” Kenny added thoughtfully while wondering why he hadn’t. “I mean I knew it was odd for you to withdraw but…” Kenny shook his head in disbelief. All that was over now, thankfully. “Let’s see that paper that needs editing,” he suggested to Brad. “And Vernon, why don’t you check over Brad’s math homework and make sure it’s correct…”

**********

          Gregory A. Smythe noticed the girl right away as he walked into the visiting room. It wasn’t that she was oddly dressed or anything; she wore a tailored royal blue jacket over a trim black dress that flared outward below the knees and fit in with the outfits other female visitors wore. And putting the blonde hair up high on her head, holding it in place with some sort of bumpy stick, was a pretty common hairstyle, too, not the stick part, put piling it up high on the head was. So that wasn’t why he noticed her at all. Nor was it the glint of diamond on her ears or the silver chain and heart-shaped pendant at her neck. Lots of visitors wore jewelry here. It was that kind of place. It’s just that she was so young—most of the visitors were way older.  
           Even more interesting was the fact that she was there to see him! Greg knew he wasn’t permitted visitors without father’s express permission. So why had father approved? How did father know the girl, Greg certainly didn’t…  
           Greg sat down at the small round table across from her. “Who are you?” he questioned bluntly while studying the girl in front of him. She had startling green eyes that were almost familiar…  
           “I’m, uh, here,” she replied. She reached into a tiny blue clutch purse, pulled out a small blue card and handed it to Greg.  
           He looked at it. “Jane Smith?” he asked in open disbelief while looking back at the girl. She didn’t look like a “Jane” at all.  
           “That’s what I was named,” she answered but Greg noticed the girl, “Jane,” looked distinctly uncomfortable as she spoke.  
           “Really?” Greg persisted. The name sounded familiar, but Greg couldn’t remember having heard it before.  
           “Um, actually, I’ve come here to return something,” Jane said not answering his question. Her hand again went into the blue purse and this time brought out a small white box tied with a bright yellow bow.  
           _Return? What could that be?_ Greg took the box and looked apprehensively around the room; who was watching?  
           “Don’t worry,” Jane assured Greg. “I told them all about the box—even showed them the contents; it’s been approved. You don’t have to hide it…”  
           Greg untied the ribbon and opened the lid. Inside was an iPod—not just any iPod, _his_ iPod!  
           Greg stared in disbelief at the unexpected object and unwanted memories flooded over him—the mangled body barely alive he had found under his car, the ride with his father to the hospital that wasn’t a hospital, the realization she would never survive and the only thing he could think of to do to ease her passing was provide music, so the last sounds she heard wouldn’t be that of cold impersonal hospital noises… All things he had been trying desperately to forget… How could father be so cruel as to send someone to force him to relive that night? He looked up at the person who had brought him the iPod—her cheerful pleasant face and green eyes that stared expectantly back at him—wait a minute, _green?_ Didn’t the injured girl they left in the hospital that was not a hospital have green eyes too? Could it be? _No!_  
           “I would have never made it without the music,” Jane told him confirming something Greg would have never believed possible.  
           “I don’t understand,” began Greg in confusion. “She was, you were dy—”  
           “They were very good doctors,” Jane replied firmly. “And I had the music…” She looked down lost in thoughts of her own. Then she looked up again. “I just wanted to thank you,” she told Greg.  
           “Thank me!?” exploded Greg. “How can you thank me for, for—”  
           “Running me over?” stated Jane bluntly. “Yeah, well I was having a lousy day too! And believe it or not, it would have turned out much worse for me if I hadn’t, uh, if you hadn’t, ah, _run_ into me…”  
           “You can make jokes about this?”  
           “Well, it turned out O.K.,” she told him. “Though you really should lay off the alcohol,” she scolded. “It’s not good for you especially that drinking and driving stuff! Another “accident” may not turn out nearly as well…”  
           “Yeah, well, I’ve been working on that,” admitted Greg. He hadn’t thought he’d had a problem until that night… And now…  
           “That’s good,” said Miss Smith approvingly. “I’ll be going now.” She stood up to leave. “I just wanted to get that back to you and let you know… Oh, yes, your father says you can come home when you’re ready to leave.”  
           “He does?” questioned Greg in surprise. Father had emphatically never wanted to see him again when he had shipped Greg off to Switzerland...  
           “Yes.”  
           “He forgives me?”  
           “About the car? Probably; that was easy enough to repair. About drinking or the, ah, accident? Probably not, but he’s willing to talk… Between you and me,” she added in a confidential tone, “I think he misses you… Well, good luck!” She started to walk off.  
           “Wait!” said Greg suddenly. Jane paused and looked at him expectantly. “Don’t go—I have something for you!” Jane looked at him confused.  “Just wait right there,” Greg told her. “I’ll be right back.” He scrambled out of his chair and hurried to his room. In a few minutes he had returned with a small bag. “I believe this is yours,” he told Jane handing her the bag.  
           She opened the bag and looked inside. “My beads!” she said with genuine delight. “However did you get them?” She reached into the bag, pulled out a handful beads and let them drop back into the bag one at a time causing them to clink musically.  
           “Well, um, we didn’t think they’d be safe at the hospital…” Greg told her. The look Jane shot him made Greg feel she knew he had just lied but he couldn’t tell her that father had insisted Greg undo the braids in the car on the way to the hospital saying they made her too _identifiable_ …   “Uh, I guess you’ll be braiding your hair again…” he said to change the subject before she said anything.  
           Jane reached into the bag and pulled out another handful of beads. She looked down at the beads between her fingers. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I _need_ the braids any more. Well, maybe just one… And I need a new bracelet,” she told him, “a colourful bracelet. These beads will do nicely…”  
           “That’s good,” replied Greg. He didn’t really like cornrow braids... “I’m glad I saved them.”  
           “Me too,” agreed Jane with a smile. “Well, I’ve got to be going.” She closed up the bag of beads.  
           “Wait! Don’t go! I don’t even know your name!” protested Greg as Jane tucked the bag into her blue purse.  
           “You got my card,” she answered.  
           “That’s just the name my father gave the receptionist,” Greg told her having suddenly remembered why the name sounded familiar.  
           “It’s good enough.”  
           “No it isn’t,” argued Greg. “Suppose I want to see you again?”  
           “Whatever for?” Jane asked. “I’m fine; you’re fine, well, getting better,” she amended. “I just didn’t want you going through life thinking, well, you know…”  
           “But what if I want to ask you out to dinner?”  
           “Me?” she questioned with surprise. “Why?”  
           “Why? Because you brought me the most incredible news I ever thought was possible and I would like to thank you properly.”  
           “That’s not necessary,” Jane assured him. “I came here to thank you.”  
           “But I would still like to ask you out.”  
           “Out? Like on a date?” she asked in disbelief. Greg nodded. “But we don’t even know each other!” she protested.  
           “That’s what dates are all about,” reminded Greg, “to get to know each other and I would very much like to get to know you better...”  
           A faint blush of pink appeared on Jane’s cheeks. “Oh no!” she refused quickly. “Father would never,” Jane turned even redder as she spoke. “Seriously?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “But I’m still in school!”  
           “You’re not in school now,” Greg reminded her.  
           “But that was just to let you know… I have to get back!”  
           “Next Saturday? I’m sure I can get out…”  
           “Oh, no, I go to school in Great Britain.”  
           “I could get father to transfer me to Meadowsgate,” persisted Greg. The hospital that was not a hospital; the place didn’t seem so bad now. “That’s closer and I hear they have some very good doctors there…”  
           “They do, “ Jane agreed with a smile. “But watch Nurse Faulkner. She’ll take your iPod away at night…” With that Jane abruptly turned and hurried out of the room.  
           Greg suddenly realized he still didn’t know Jane’s real name, or where she lived or went to school or anything! But that was no problem, father surely did…

**********

          “Hey, Holly,” said Albus. “Want to come over to Hagrid’s for tea Thursday?”  
           “Um,” Holly Wycliff glanced questioningly at Becky and Mark first; they nodded their heads in agreement. “Sure,” she told Albus. It seemed like ages since she had last shared tea with the Potters and Hagrid.  
           Holly had been back at Hogwarts a week when the invite came. It was two weeks since she and Vernon had left Sir, now Devon Henderson, at St. Mungo’s. For the first week, Holly had spent most of her time with Roland picking up the pieces Sir had left behind. They sorted though his papers; gave notices on Sir’s behalf to all the places where he had obtained employment in his various identities and matched Sir’s alternate residences with burn locations making sure all fires were out… During the same time, father paid off all his outstanding bills, and Cousin Harry worked with the Hufflepuffs to set up cover stories explaining the Wycliff family’s absence since June enabling them all to return to their old lives.  
           The first week of Holly’s return had been rather interesting. The Hufflepuffs had given Holly a very quiet, private party celebrating her arrival the first night. Then they set to work intensively tutoring Holly catching her up on class assignments and expectations. There was no public acknowledgement when Holly arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast the next day. The Ravenclaws _said_ nothing but Holly could feel their intense interest at her arrival.  
           Leila Pilkington cornered Holly outside the Great Hall right after breakfast. “You’re back!” she told Holly bluntly.  
           “Yes,” agreed Holly without further explanation.  
           “I wrote father you were missing,” Leila added, her brown eyes stared intently at Holly. “He wrote back and said to “say nothing and wait.” So I did.” Leila’s emotions indicated that she was uncertain about the rightness of her actions…  
           “Thank you for noticing,” said Holly sincerely. “Thank you for telling your father and thank you for waiting.” It was nice to know that Sir had been wrong when he had asserted Holly was all alone and no one would look for her—Leila had been a back-up Holly hadn’t even known existed... She was profoundly grateful.  
           Leila nodded looking and feeling much relieved. “Was it Sir?” Leila questioned curiously.  
           “Yes.”  
           “Did you get him?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “How?”  
           “Can’t tell you,” replied Holly. “But he won’t be bothering me again, ever!”  
           “That’s good,” said Leila. “Fitzpatrick help?”  
           “Conner?” questioned Holly with surprise. “How did y—” she broke off having already said more than she should have.  
           “Fitzpatrick was absent a couple of days,” Leila told Holly answering her unspoken question. “And he wasn’t the same when he returned—more confident, with his head held high… No one ever said anything,” Leila continued, “but we always wondered if Sir hadn’t something to do with Conner’s strange behavior last year and the way you and Albus kept near…”  
           “Yeah, Conner helped,” admitted Holly not denying Leila’s observations or conclusions. Leila was Ravenclaw; she would see right through it.  “But don’t tell anyone…”  
           “I won’t,” agreed Leila with a smile. “Glad you’re back.”  
           “Me too. Uh, Leila?”  
           “Yes?”  
           “Would you thank the Ravenclaws for me? It’s really good to know you were all there ready to help if necessary… I really appreciate it.”  
           “I will.”  
           Rose Weasley stopped Holly before her first class. “Is it over now?” she whispered anxiously. “Can we talk about it? What happened? Conner won’t say a word and he’s been insufferable! It’s hurting Albus,” continued Rose nonstop. “He’s clueless and we haven’t been able to tell him why!”  
           “Yes, it’s over,” replied Holly surprised Rose knew in the first place, but then, she was pretty smart. “And no, I can’t talk about it but I’ll figure out something to say to Albus… Thanks for warning me…”  
           Holly let the memory charm wear off naturally preferring to deal with Albus and any questions without the pounding headache that reportedly came with pushing to overcome the charm’s effects sooner. Consequently, Albus, like the rest of the Gryffindors, the Slytherins and some of the professors, looked right through Holly that first week as if she didn’t exist.  
           After the second week, all the professors and classmates saw Holly but it was as if she had always been there and no big deal. “Same time?” questioned Holly.  
           “Course!” agreed Albus. “See you later!” and he rushed off to rejoin Conner and Taylor.  
           Holly grabbed her bags and started to leave too, but stopped. The nearby Slytherins were filled with “anticipation…” On a hunch, Holly looked down. Yep! There was something wet and shiny just under her foot. Holly stepped cautiously away keeping her feet from touching it, whatever “it” was. The “anticipation” immediately deflated turning to disappointment. Holly rolled her eyes and looked at the nearby Slytherins, Martina Goyle and Shirley Ogg who were probably responsible.  
           “You should have kept _all_ your braids,” Ogg told Holly nastily. “They drew the eyes away from your _ugly_ face!”   
           “Yeah!” agreed Goyle. “That ugly skinny thing left doesn’t distract from anything!”  
           Holly’s new hair style was straight blonde hair barely touching her shoulders, parted in the middle and brushed smooth. A butterfly clip pinned her hair back on the left and a slender beaded braid hung down on her right side keeping the hair from her eyes.  
           “Oh, grow up!” Holly told them with disgust and hurried to join Mark and Becky.  
           A week of being ignored had given Holly a chance to observe the activities of the rest of the students. The Slytherins were being particularly nasty this year. Holly saw them slip all sorts of things including bugs, snails, snakes, flobberworms, ink, goo, rotted food, drinks, feces, glue, and dye into other students’ bags. No student, except other Slytherins, was exempt from their activities. The Slytherins also took papers, books and supplies out of bags and classrooms, stole and bewitched food in the Great Hall, tore/destroyed personal property, and set all sorts of unpleasant traps for the unwitting. Peeves was positively friendly in comparison. Any free time Holly had was spent comforting the younger Hufflepuffs who had been pushed to the brink by the constant Slytherin harassment. All the other students, not just the Hufflepuffs, had taken to traveling in groups as a precaution against aggressive Slytherins accosting them in the hallways. That still didn’t keep the Slytherins from quietly casting their spells to trip and aggravate their classmates. For a week Holly had enjoyed immunity from Slytherin attention. Now that they “remembered” her, Holly had no doubt she would receive Slytherin harassment along with everyone else.

**********

          “You mean, all of that was going on and you never told me?” questioned Albus indignantly.  
           “Or me?” added Lily. They (James, Albus, Lily, Rose, Hugo, Holly, Becky, Mark, Conner and Taylor) were all squished into Hagrid’s hut enjoying the usual muddy water he called tea. As usual, there was no place to stand; the table and chairs (except one for Hagrid) had been moved out. Fang was draped over Holly, Lily and Conner while Sasha perched up high on top of a shelf next to Sapphire, Lily’s cat. While Holly did not feel free to discuss how they had “gotten” Sir, the things that had gone on before could be mentioned.  
           “Couldn’t,” Holly told Albus honestly. “Remember all the notes I got the year before?” Albus nodded. “Cousin Harry was sure Sir had some way to watch the school and was watching all of you…”  
           “But I’d have never said anything!” protested Albus. Lily nodded in righteous agreement.  
           “Course you wouldn’t,” agreed Conner.  
           “But we didn’t know how Sir got his information and couldn’t risk it,” added Holly.  
           “Not that there was any real danger of that,” said Rose confidently, “or he would have known that half the school wasn’t reading the _Prophet_ and knew all about him!”  
           “Um, actually Sir sent a flier to the Slytherins as a reporter and offered to pay for any and all information on activities going on at Hogwarts, in particular those things that concerned the Potters and their friends…” informed Holly after taking another sip of “tea.” “That’s how he knew so much about me the previous year.” Holly had already read through the numerous tips Sir had received the previous year. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been many “tips” at all this year…  
           “So why didn’t he know something was up?” questioned Hugo. “I mean you couldn’t miss everyone reading the _Prophet_ upside down!” Holly felt a sudden rush of shame and embarrassment from Albus; clearly he hadn’t noticed it…  
           “I did,” stated Lily loyally though Holly knew she lied. On the other hand, Lily had looked through Holly as if she wasn’t there all the previous week so it was clear that, though Lily had noticed the upside down reading, she hadn’t attached any importance to the action.  
           “I ‘xpect they jes’ thot it wus sum Ravenclaw fad not worth mentionin’,” put in Hagrid. “That’s wot I thought. More tea?” Everyone shook their heads politely.  
           “They were probably too busy trying to keep their own activities secret to waste time reporting on others,” commented Mark. “I’m right, aren’t I?” he added questioning Holly. “They’re worse than last year aren’t they?”  
           Holly sighed. “They seem to be,” she agreed. Her mind went over all the horror tales about the Slytherins the Hufflepuffs had been telling her the previous week. Nothing she had personally observed seemed to offset that. Crashing Pilkington’s ball? In Death Eater outfits? Seriously? Even Anthony Richards, who had been halfway decent last year, was behaving no better than the rest. Aloud Holly added. “And I don’t know why…” Fortunately, the Christmas Holiday was coming up soon. Hopefully, the Slytherins would be better in the spring…

 


	25. Chapter 25

           “Are you sure you want to do this?” questioned Cousin Harry worriedly.  
           “Yes,” replied Holly Wycliff firmly while she clutched Cousin Harry’s arm even tighter. In truth, Holly felt so scared she could barely stand upright on her shaking legs… “It’s got to be done,” she told him. “I won’t live the rest of my life in fear…” Of course, that sounded pretty much like a good idea at the moment…  
           “We can always do it later,” he suggested hopefully, “before school starts up in January or during the summer…”  
           “No, now,” Holly told him firmly. “Who knows who I might run into later or when… It’s got to be now!”  
           “Very well, then” he told her. “Let’s do it.” He pulled out his wand and started counting the bricks. In a few minutes all of Diagon Alley lay before Holly—Diagon Alley and _death._

**********

          “There’s so many people!” whispered Holly Wycliff as she looked at the colourful crowds in the alley.  
           “Of course,” replied Cousin Harry. “Holiday shopping; time with the kids; a celebration with families reunited…” That was probably not the only reason there were so many people today, but the explanation sounded good. “Shall we?” he suggested gently.  
           Holly gulped and nodded. She repositioned her arm on Cousin Harry’s, took a deep breath and then a tiny step. Cousin Harry matched her step and soon the two were walking forward.  
           Of course they were noticed. Holly kept her head facing straight ahead but she could sense “recognition” all around her as they walked. The bustling noises died down. Holly could sense the witches and wizards following. Not just the shoppers, but the streetside vendors packed up their supplies and began to follow as well as did the shopkeepers, who locked up and left their stores to follow. They were Hufflepuffs, mostly. Their overwhelming concern, determination, support and love enabled Holly to keep walking forward herself. On and on she walked followed by the rest of the people in Diagon Alley. Those not Hufflepuff came too, swept up by the movement of the Hufflepuffs.  
           Holly stopped in front of a snowy white building that towered over the other shops, Gringotts. The crowd behind stopped as well. Neither “Jane Smith” nor Holly could understand why the goblins had been so angry that day, but Cousin Harry had an idea. It had to do with a complaint filed with the Ministry over a year earlier…

**********

          Harry Potter stared apprehensively at the Gringotts entrance and its tall white pillars. Would this work? Or had they hastened Holly’s death by coming? “You could still back out,” he told Holly. “Do this some other time…” _or not at all…_ Holly shook her head and resolutely stepped forward. Harry kept up and soon the two were walking up the steps of Gringotts. The Goblin at the entrance bowed politely as they went through the burnished bronze doors. They paused briefly to look at the Thieves Warning on the second set of doors, the silver ones. Two more Goblins bowed as they passed.  
           “Hello, Mr. Potter,” came a courteous voice next to Harry.  
           Harry looked down to see Griphook standing next to him. “Hello, Griphook,” replied Harry cordially. We are here to meet with President Gottenram.  
           “President Gottenram does not meet with wand-carriers,” replied Griphook firmly.  
           “I realize that,” answered Harry calmly. His earlier attempts to meet with Gottenram had all been met with polite but firm refusals. “But this is important. Could you please ask again?”  
           “Come with me.”  
           “No,” refused Harry. “We’ll wait here for your response.” Harry had gone with Kingsley one day. They were led to one of the small private rooms and told to “wait.” They waited all day and were asked to leave when the bank closed; President Gottenram had already gone home. Kingsley was furious; Harry wasn’t feeling much better but they both managed to leave without exploding knowing glittering goblin eyes were watching their every step. That’s when Harry took the problem to the Hufflepuffs. They had helped Holly catch Sir, perhaps they could do something with Gottenram…  
           “As you wish.” Griphook vanished within the darkness of Gringotts. Harry and Holly waited. As they did, more and more wizards and witches filed into the bank. They didn’t go up to the counters or approach a goblin to be served, they just entered, stepped away from the entrance and stood. Most were Hufflepuffs but there were others. Ginny and his (Harry’s) family, of course, Ron and Hermione and their family, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George Weasley, past members of Dumbledore’s army, curious Ravenclaws and their families. They didn’t know why they had come, just that it would be a “good idea” to… Kingsley was not there, nor was Dean; this could not in any way look like Ministry action…  
           Wizard Pilkington, Daniel, came quietly up and stood next to Holly. “Hello there,” he greeted softly. “How are you doing?”  
           “Fine,” replied Holly shortly but her face showed the stress of the situation.  
           Griphook returned. He looked around taking in all the non-moving customers before he spoke. “President Gottenram will not see you.” Griphook told Harry. “He says that what is important to wand-carriers is of no importance to him.”  
           The lady nearest to Harry, he recognized her as the proprietor of Felicity’s Feline Emporium, stepped quietly away. He saw her weave through the growing crowd of people and walk up to one of the counters, they had all been empty of customers. **“I want to withdraw all my money,”** she told the goblin at the counter loudly. **“Here’s my key.”**  
           As if on cue, several other witches and wizards moved to the counters filling them all. **“I want to remove all my money too!”** said Madam Malcom loudly.  
           **“Me too!”** shouted several other voices in chorus.  
           “I don’t believe Mr. Potter gave the subject of his desired meeting,” said Daniel softly. “Perhaps what is important to wand-carriers is of _equal_ importance to Gringotts…”  
           Griphook shot a malevolent glare at Daniel. “You _dare_ blackmail us?”  
           “Certainly not,” denied Daniel. “I am merely making an observation.”  
           “He’ll not meet,” assured Griphook. “Not ever!”  
           **“I want to see President Gottenram and ask why he doesn’t like me!”** exclaimed Holly in a very loud voice. Suddenly she sagged and leaned heavily against Harry; he tightened his grip holding her up.  
           “What?” he whispered urgently, “What is it?”  
           “The anger!” she gasped! “It’s so strong!” So Sir had been right—it _was_ their voices the goblins had recognized.  
           _“Block!”_ urged Harry. “You’ve got to block! Block out the anger and focus on your friends and family.” _"Selective Blocking"_ Winonan had called it. All that organ practice of Holly’s had to come to something and now would be a very good time to put it to use.  
           “What have you _done!!?_ ” Griphook hissed to Harry.  
           Harry looked up and around. The situation had just become deadly. The goblins all looked ready to kill, held in place only by the large number of witches and wizards in the bank equally ready to stop them. The Blood Bounty on Holly was no joke and she had just made herself known... “Grinfield once said there were no exceptions in goblin law,” Harry said in earnest, “that means you _do_ have a law. How do you settle your squabbles, disputes between each other?” Harry knew Gottenram would never take this matter to the Ministry or he would have already done so. “All we ask is a chance to be heard!”  
           “And a chance to hear the charges against me!” added Holly as she straightened out and stood, emotions again clearly under control.  
           “Our ways are _not_ for wand-carriers!” Griphook spat unable to keep the pure hatred out of his voice.  
Holly drew a deep breath. Then she pulled out her wand and handed it to Roland DeWitt, who had come near when Holly had staggered. After a moment of hesitation, Holly pulled out the _second_ wand at her belt and handed it to Roland as well. “I’m _not_ a wand-carrier!” she announced loudly within hearing of everyone.  
           Daniel Pilkington pulled out his own wand and handed it to Roland also. “Nor am I,” he told the goblin. Daniel looked expectantly at Harry.  
           With reluctance, Harry pulled out his own wand. “Take good care of it,” he told Roland as he placed the wand in his care. Harry felt totally naked without it. “Goblin law,” Harry challenged when he again faced Griphook. “This has to be resolved!”  
           “Wand-carriers do not interfere with our law,” Griphook said suddenly. “There must be no interference here.”  
           “Of course not,” agreed Harry.  
           “Your word!” snapped Griphook. “No interference, no reprisal.”  
           “What?” questioned Harry with surprise. “But I can’t guarantee that!”  
           “You have the ear of the wand-carrier leader,” insisted Griphook. “Your word!”  
           Holly turned to Harry. “Please?” she whispered.  
           “Very well,” said Harry with reluctance. “My word,” he said looking back at Griphook. “I shall do what I can.”  
           “And yours!” Griphook demanded suddenly fixing his black eyes on Daniel.  
           “Me?” questioned Daniel in surprise. “I don’t have Kingsley’s ear!”  
           “You have the ear of those who decide wand-carrier law,” Griphook retorted. “Your word!”  
           _“Not quite,”_ corrected Harry in his mind, _“but that could be how Daniel’s courtroom successes appeared to the goblins…”_  
           “What?” replied Daniel in surprise. “I don—” He straightened. “My word,” he told the goblin gravely.  
           “And yours!” said Griphook turning and fixing his attention on Roland DeWitt.  
           “Me?” sputtered Roland. “I speak for no one and have no one’s ear!”  
           “You stand as one with _these_ wand-carriers,” replied Griphook while looking around the bank and they with you. Your word!”  
           _“Interesting assessment,”_ thought Harry, _“and basically accurate as Roland was a Hufflepuff…”_  
           Roland looked around the bank; Harry followed his gaze and saw the Hufflepuffs within sight stare back and then almost imperceptibly nod their heads. “My word,” Roland answered firmly returning his attention to Griphook.  
           Griphook nodded. Very well, he said. “Wait here.” He turned.  
           “You haven’t asked for my word,” spoke up Holly loudly.  
           Griphook turned back and looked at Holly. The hatred showed clearly in his black eyes. “You won’t live long enough to keep it,” he told her bluntly. Harry shuttered. There was no doubt Griphook believed what he said.  
           “T-then perhaps I should speak now,” she replied. “While I can.” Holly released her grip on Harry’s arm. **“This is between me and Go-Gottenram,”** she said loudly while looking around the bank and its many witches and wizards. **“No matter what happens, it _stays_ between us. _Sir_ must not win, even in this.”**  
           Griphook stared at Holly for a full minute without blinking his black eyes. “Wait here,” he finally said. He turned and vanished within the crowd.  
           Harry looked around at all the people in the bank—he doubted there was anyone left in Diagon Alley and had no idea how they had all fit in the bank—maybe it was some sort of extendable charm... Interspersed between them were the goblins—more goblins in one place than Harry had ever seen before; he was certain many were not bank employees! Where had they all come from? Certainly not the entrance. The goblins glared at Harry, no Holly, with open hatred. What had happened to make them hate her so?  
           Harry couldn’t believe the goblin genocide plot of Sir’s when Holly had related it but now, with all the Hufflepuffs and his Gryffindor family and friends, wands drawn, standing in support of Holly and the goblins ready to kill, well—the idea suddenly became frighteningly plausible. Was this what Griphook had realized when he recognized “Jane” as Holly at Gringotts that fateful day? Was it why Griphook had broken with goblin tradition to warn Harry and didn’t tell the other goblins who “Jane” was? The question remained: Why the anger? Why the bounty? “Jane” had done nothing of consequence at Gringotts, nothing to merit all this…

**********

          Wizard Daniel Pilkington watched Griphook leave without comment. Harry Potter had spoken with familiarity to Griphook and had mentioned Grinfield’s name. Grinfield was another Gringotts President. How did he figure in? It was all was curious, as Harry had apparently not been involved with the Ministry negotiations to lift their blood bounty. How, then did he come to know them? Equally curious was the silver band that appeared on Harry’s wrist upon entering Gringotts. Daniel noticed a similar band upon Mrs. Weasley’s wrist and guessed there might be a third one on Mr. Weasely’s. What dealings had the three had with the goblins?  
           Daniel put those thoughts aside and instead focused on the current situation. Holly with a Blood Bounty? Incredible! It was inconceivable that Holly had ever done anything against the goblins let alone something so serious as to merit a Blood Bounty… Daniel would have considered Griphook’s warning, once Harry explained it, as a goblin version of a joke of some sort. But Harry didn’t. And now, seeing all the goblins in the bank with murderous expressions directed at Holly, Daniel knew it was all very serious indeed. What had happened? Holly’s only conceivable link to goblins was Gottenram and that was only through the dreams Sir had given her.  
            Gottenram was listed in the Ministry Law Enforcement records exactly one time. Last year his name was mentioned in a complaint against an unknown wizard who supposedly attacked him. The information on the complaint was sketchy. A witch found Gottenram in one of the back alleys near Gringotts and notified the Ministry. The official on site insisted on taking a statement from Gottenram before letting the goblins carry him away for medical treatment. Gottenram claimed an invisible wand carrier had attacked him. There was no medical report and Gottenram never signed the complaint. The report was later flagged as possibly the work of Sir. Even if it was Sir, the assault had nothing to do with Holly.  
           After about ten minutes, Griphook returned. He stared at Holly with his black glittering eyes before speaking. “If you will follow me, _please,”_ he told Holly with ill-disguised hatred.  
           “Where?” asked Harry taking hold of Holly’s arm not letting her move.  
           “To the Cavern.”  
           “Why?”  
           “Disputes are not settled here,” he told them. “You must go to the Cavern if you wish to hear the charges against you.”  
           “And I may respond?” Holly questioned.  
           “You will be heard,” replied Griphook making no promises.  
           “And then?” asked Harry softly.  
           “The matter is settled.”  
           “Just like that?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Her accuser will be there?” asked Daniel. It was only a guess about Gottenram; in reality, they still didn’t know who had called the Blood Bounty or why.  
           “Yes, but not for long.” Griphook looked again at Holly. “You should slink away now while you have _protection,”_ he told her disdainfully while looking about at all the other wizards and witches. “Only the person who calls a Blood Bounty can lift it and he will not.”  
           “So you say,” replied Holly meeting his gaze squarely.  
           “So I know!”  
           “Why don’t we find out for sure,” she challenged. “Where is this Cavern?”  
           “What’s to say you don’t try to claim this Blood Bounty the moment Holly walks out of sight?” asked a voice from the crowd. “Especially now that you’ve got our word?” Daniel looked at its owner and recognized Mr. Ronald Weasley. Like the others, his wand was still out ready for use and, yes, he did wear a silver band similar to Harry’s on his wrist!  
           “No harm will come to her,” assured Griphook, “until _after_ she speaks!” He turned and began walking away leaving it up to Holly to follow or not. She looked up at Harry. “I’ve got to!” she told him and hurried after Griphook. Harry followed, as did Daniel. Why else had they given up their wands if not to come along?  
           Roland Dewitt moved forward too. Griphook paused and turned. “This is not a matter for wand-carriers,” he told Roland flatly.  
           “I gave my word,” said Roland firmly. “I must see for myself what happens…” He handed all the wands, his own included, to the nearest person, Madam Malcom. “I am _not_ a wand-carrier,” Roland announced for all to hear.  
           Griphook studied him for a moment. Then without a word he turned and continued walking. Taking that for consent, Roland caught up with Daniel and joined the group.  
           Griphook led them to the back of Gringotts on and on until the banking lights seemed but distant pinpricks. Then he stopped. Daniel and the others stopped too. A gentle whoosh sounded. Then a torch lit up, the light from the tiny single flame seemed almost blinding after all the darkness. Holly turned and reached her hand out. “It’s a glass door!” she exclaimed in surprise. Daniel reached out his hand and lightly touched the cold solid surface dividing them from the rest of the bank.  
           “And a metal one,” observed Roland looking the other way. Daniel turned and saw a short solid brass door, goblin sized. It had a half circle style top and was covered with intricate carvings of animals and magical creatures intertwined with what looked to be mushrooms, roots and plants.  
           “It’s beautiful!” whispered Holly. Daniel had to agree.  
           “Your filthy foot coverings stay here,” instructed Griphook with obvious disgust while looking down at their feet. He had already slipped off his own shoes and set them on a shelf next to the door.  
           The four each bent down and began removing their shoes and stocking. “It’s good to know the feet needn’t be clean,” said Daniel wryly while looking at Griphook’s extremely dirty long bare feet with sharp, jagged toenails.  
           “Dirt is clean,” retorted Griphook without embarrassment. “Though I can see why _your_ kind feel the need to cover your feet,” he added staring pointedly at Holly’s colourfully painted toenails. Holly flushed pink.  
           “Perhaps it would offend less if we kept our covering on,” suggested Harry mildly as he tucked his socks in his shoes.  
           “It would “offend less” if you retrieved your wands, returned to the light and accepted the inevitable,” responded Griphook.  
           “That’s not going to happen,” assured Roland as he placed his shoes neatly on the shelf next to Griphook’s.  
           Daniel mentally agreed placing his shoes and socks next to Roland’s. Whatever was going to happen, they would not let Holly face it alone.  
           When everyone had finished, Griphook pulled out a heavy gold key and placed into the lock on the door. He turned the key; removed it and opened the door revealing a long dark tunnel.  
           “Now what?” asked Holly while looking down the tunnel.  
           “We walk,” replied Griphook. He stepped into the tunnel a few meters and then turned to wait for the others to catch up.  
           “No car?” questioned Roland as he crouched down and began to move forward. Only Griphook could stand straight in the tunnel. The rest of them had to bend down to keep from bumping their heads. The floor was cold and damp but not muddy.  
           _“Wand-carriers_ need cars,” replied Griphook as the heavy door swung shut behind them shutting out all the light.


	26. Chapter 26

          It seemed totally dark at first, but when his eyes had adjusted Daniel Pilkington saw dim patches of light, phosphorus worms, upon the walls of the tunnel.  
           “Follow me,” said Griphook and he began to walk. The four followed.  
           It didn’t take long for Daniel’s knees, thighs, calves, neck, and back to strenuously complain about the cramped walking conditions. The cold uneven surface underneath didn’t help. Daniel longed to call for a halt so he could sit and stretch out a bit but his pride wouldn’t let him. Instead he tried asking questions to distract him from the pain. “Isn’t there some other way to lift a Blood Bounty?” he asked.  
           “Kill the one who sets it,” replied Griphook bluntly. “Then there would be no payment upon a successful conclusion. But that will not work this time,” he assured them. “I think any of us would happily take the _blood_ without the _bounty.”_  
           “I didn’t do whatever it is you think I’ve done!” insisted Holly.  
           “A convenient loss of memory will not save you, _Miss Wycliff,”_ spat Griphook coldly, “nor will the Potter name.”  
           “Holly is _not_ a Potter,” corrected Roland firmly.  
           _“Yours_ cannot help either,” retorted Griphook grimly.  
           “We got her this far…” Roland calmly replied. “We’ll pull her through,” he added confidently.  
           “Not this time,” assured Griphook.  
           They continued to walk. Down and down they went turning into one passage and then the next. Finally the passage leveled off but still they walked.  
           Daniel focused his thoughts on Griphook as they walked. Griphook had extracted a promise of “no retaliation” from a Gryffindor, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff. Sure, they were Holly’s friends and family, but was his selection more than just chance? It only lacked a Slytherin “promise” to make the representation complete. Daniel hadn’t seen any Slytherins in the bank at the time but did it matter? He didn’t know of any single Slytherin with enough influence to speak for the behavior of other Slytherins. One tended to ignore the goblins because they kept to their own, but Griphook’s words indicated an awareness of how wizards and witches were sorted and their relationship to each other. _“Interesting. What other things did they know?"_  
           “What happens in this Cavern?” Daniel questioned aloud. He had never heard of the Cavern before.  
Griphook did not answer.  
           “We would not wish to offend through ignorance,” put in Harry. “Especially with such … severe … consequences…”  
           “There is a circle within,” began Griphook reluctantly. “Those who wish to speak and be heard stand there.”  
           “And how do you decide?” questioned Daniel.  
           “We agree,” said Griphook bluntly without elaboration.  
           “But what if someone was lying?” questioned Roland worriedly.  
           “No one “lies” in the circle.”  
           Abruptly the tunnel widened and Daniel found he could stand up straight again. He stretched with relief and looked about. They walked into a huge cavern.  
           Griphook stopped. He raised his right hand and suddenly several torches lit simultaneously overhead. They were held in place by huge stalactites coming down from the ceiling. Each stalactite appeared to be intricately carved. Daniel walked forward and inspected the nearest one. It was filled with faces and figures that moved with life. The floor was stone, polished smooth with use. In the center was a circle that gleamed brightly in the torchlight.  
           “Sit here,” instructed Griphook pointing to the edge of the circle. It looked like a pool of inky black water but as they drew near, Daniel saw the circle was actually a solid black disk, set into the stone floor. The four sat down on the floor making themselves as comfortable as possible. The floor was polished smooth, but hard and cold, with an uneven surface. Harry and Daniel sat on either side of Holly and Roland positioned himself protectively behind her.  
           Daniel looked around the Cavern with its high ceilings and sides that seemed to vanish into inky darkness. Then he studied the circle in front of them. The inky blackness was filled with thin ribbons of gold, silver and copper. They slowly swirled around each other touching and separating, mixing, twisting, merging nonstop. The effect was almost hypnotic. Daniel cautiously touched the circle. The pool wasn’t water or liquid, but felt solid and hard as glass. It tingled to the touch. “It’s spelled,” he murmured softly to the others. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to lie while standing on it.”  
           “You would die,” confirmed Griphook calmly. “Only the most serious disputes concerning life and death are brought here.” Other goblins came in and silently sat on the opposite side of the circle. Griphook sat down next to Harry. “Do not speak until it is time,” he told them.  
           “When would that be?” asked Daniel while eying all the goblins who kept coming in and sitting down. They all stared murderously at Holly.  
           “When it is time,” came the vague response.  
           After about ten minutes the goblins turned their venomous gaze from Holly and looked in a new direction. Daniel looked too. He saw three goblins walk forward. Like all goblins, they had large domed heads, swarthy faces, pointed beards and large feet. But there was something about the way the other goblins looked at them that indicated these goblins commanded respect. The goblin in front wore a dark red suit trimmed in gold. It had to be Gottenram. He walked up to the circle and stopped in front of Holly. She looked up at him.  
           “Oh my!” exclaimed Holly suddenly.  
           “What?” asked Harry anxiously.  
           “There’s such _pain!_ It’s worse than Conner!”  
           “Silence!” said Griphook sharply. “Or you will be removed!”  
           It had to be some mental turmoil. Gottenram looked fine to Daniel but he stared at Holly with pure malevolent hatred. Daniel studied the goblin curiously as he walked to the other side of the circle and sat down. He had never met Gottenram before nor did he know him by casual sight. A survey of friends and acquaintances indicated no one else had either, or, if they had, they did not know the identity of whom they had seen. Not in the last year, for sure, but even further back than that. In fact, the only person Daniel positively knew had met Gottenram was Harry Potter. Curious that Sir would pick Gottenram as a target…  
           A voice spoke out loudly from within the crowd. “There is a challenge?” the voice asked.  
           Daniel could not tell from whence the voice came. He looked questioningly from Holly to Harry. They looked at him expectantly. _“Right!”_ thought Daniel. _“The Hufflepuffs had gotten Holly safely into the bank and kept her alive long enough for Harry to get a hearing. Now it was his turn.”_ No one knew exactly how goblin law worked so their plan had kind of died at the point of getting heard. Griphook had said Daniel had the ear of the courts. Could he do the same with goblins? Daniel straightened. “Yes,” he said loudly and looked apprehensively at Griphook in case that single word would get him carted away. Griphook did not move nor did he look upset at the response so Daniel continued. “I understand a Blood Bounty has been called. We wish to learn why.”  
           Gottenram stood. He stepped onto the circle. He pointed a long skinny finger with a ragged black nail at its end at Holly. _“You_ tried to kill me!” he accused with conviction.  
           “I nev—!” exclaimed Holly inadvertently.  
           Daniel grabbed Holly’s arm silencing her. “Describe the circumstances!” he said loudly.  
           Gottenram straightened. “They are already known!” he said firmly. It was clear Gottenram unquestioningly believed Holly’s guilt.  
           “Not to me,” argued Daniel. “I cannot challenge or agree with what I do not know...”  
           “Why should you?” questioned another voice from within the group.  
            Daniel stood. He stepped carefully on the circle. It felt warm yet somehow icy cold at the same time beneath his feet. “Because we believe that this bounty is unjustly called. It is the result of a mistake or misunderstanding. We wish to clear up this mistake and thus have the bounty lifted.”  
           “Do you say I lie?” challenged Gottenram.  
           “Of course not,” argued Daniel. “Why would you?” he added disarmingly. “But knowledge can be incomplete causing an incorrect assumption; information can be misinterpreted. That is why we want you to tell us what happened.”  
           “There is no misinterpretation!”  
           “That remains to be seen,” answered Daniel calmly. “Tell us your story.”  
           “Please,” added Harry chiming in from the side.  
           Gottenram stared stonily at Harry. Then he sighed deeply. “Very well,” he told them. “I was enjoying the stars when I heard a voice and experienced the most terrible pain,” he began.  
           “Wait a minute!” interrupted Harry. “You heard a voice?”  
           “Yes!” answered Gottenram coldly. “It said _“Crucio!”_ A _wand-carrier_ word! And it did not stop there. There were more words and more … _pain!”_ Gottenram grimaced in remembrance.  
           “Excuse me,” interrupted Daniel. “There is a, uh, wand-carrier report that includes your name and specifies numerous injuries. Would this report be describing the same event?”  
           “Yes,” Gottenram replied.  
           “Then there is no need to describe the actual event,” continued Daniel. He did not want to force Gottenram to relive the pain. “You were most horribly attacked,” Daniel agreed with him softly, “but … the report does not mention a voice…”  
           “The wand-carrier did not _ask_ about voices,” replied Gottenram disdainfully.  
           “Voices?” questioned Harry. “You heard more than one?”  
           “Yes! A male and a female voice!” replied Gottenram with certainty. _“Hers!”_ He again pointed his long dirty finger at Holly.  
           Roland leaned forward and whispered something to Harry.  
           “I have very good hearing!” replied Gottenram loudly before Harry could speak. Proof he had heard what Roland had said even though Daniel hadn’t. “And I remember!” Gottenram continued. “It was _hers_ though she tried to disguise it.”  
           “If you were so certain,” began Daniel thoughtfully. “Why did it take so long to set the Blood Bounty?”  
           “I swore a bounty as soon as I was able,” declared Gottenram, “but the owners of the voices never returned within my hearing for positive identification until a short while ago. At that time the wand-carrier stupidly stopped me and asked the time… I recognized his voice and knew who he was. And the female wand-carrier with him said, “Get out of there; he knows!” and I recognized her voice and knew her for who _she_ was...” Gottenram stepped forward. _“You!”_ he accused while pointing that dirty finger again at Holly. “Tell me where he is and I will make your death quick and painless,” he offered. Holly’s eyes grew wide; she gripped her cousin’s arm tightly.  
           “What did she say?” asked Harry before Holly could respond.  
           “What?”  
           “You said you heard their voices,” reminded Harry. “The male voice said _“crucio;”_ what did the female say?”  
           “The female said words of encouragement,” Gottenram answered. The goblins stirred restlessly. Daniel could almost feel the anger that came with it.  
           “What specifically?”  
           “You can do it... A few more…” Gottenram’s words came reluctantly.  
           “What else?” persisted Harry though Daniel wasn’t sure why. He could tell Gottenram’s words had made the goblins even angrier, if that was possible. “It’s important!” Harry added when Gottenram did not immediately speak.  
           “Feel free to die while you wait, or not…” Griphook spat. “This should be good!”  
           “I give up!” Holly exclaimed suddenly as she leaped off the ground.  
           “No!” protested Harry reaching out and grabbing her arm.  
           Holly shook him off and stepped onto the circle. “Uh, I take it back, whatever! I was there!” she admitted. “I don’t remember any of it but I must have been,” she asserted, “there,” Holly added belatedly. “If you heard that then I had to be there,” she continued. “I don’t remember saying any of that but if you heard it then I probably did, but I never intended any of those words for you,” Holly added apologetically. “I mean I can see how you probably thought they were, but they weren’t. I never thought—” Holly broke off. “But it doesn’t matter now. I don’t expect any of it would have happened if it weren’t for me so I suppose in a way it’s all my fault even though I didn’t know anything about it at the time. I’m so sorry!” Holly added sincerely. “But I don’t suppose that’s much help now.”  
           Holly turned to Daniel. “Please sit down,” she told him gravely staring at him with luminous eyes. Daniel looked questioningly from her to Harry. Harry stared back. “I know what I’m doing,” continued Holly calmly. “This is between him and me.” Harry tipped his head ever so slightly. Daniel nodded and sat down. Only Holly and Gottenram remained on the circle.  
           Holly turned to Gottenram. “You’ve been grievously injured,” she told him. “You’re angry and rightfully so. Someone must pay and I guess that’s me. For even though I knew nothing about what happened at the time, none of it would have happened if not for me.” Holly’s body stiffened with resolve. “Do what you must,” she told him, “but it has to be you! There’ll be no satisfaction if someone else does it for you; I know. There probably won’t be much satisfaction if you do it either,” Holly acknowledged, “but it’s better than nothing.” Holly turned her head towards Daniel and Harry. “No recrimination!” she reminded them. “This is what I want.” Holly again faced Gottenram and stepped forward while holding her hands out and away from her body, offering it to him. “All that anger and rage,” she whispered to Gottenram. Holly’s face was pale but determined. “It consumes you! Humiliated! In _public_ for all to see!” she taunted, “especially other _wand-carriers!”_  
           Gottenram’s face turned blacker with rage as she spoke.  
           “Unable to fight back!” Holly continued heedless of his expression or because of it. “All those things you’ve been dreaming to do if you ever found them…” Holly reminded, “and now you can!”  
           Suddenly a knife appeared in Gottenram’s hand and he thrust upward! At the same time Holly slid down! The knife met with air, its target on the ground.  
           _“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ Holly said in a high squeaky voice. She lay with her eyes closed unmoving where she had fallen.  
Gottenram stared at her in obvious surprise.  
           After a brief moment Holly spoke again. _"Just a few more steps, Missy; you can do it!"_ she said in that same voice. _“That’s it,”_ she encouraged. _“Keep on going,”_ Holly instructed. _“You want to die? That’s all right with me. Just not here! I’ve someone special I want you to meet first…”_  
           Gottenram looked over at Harry and Daniel in confusion. “What trick is this?” he questioned angrily. Neither answered. Daniel didn’t know about Harry but he felt as confused as Gottenram looked. What was going on?  
           All the while Holly continued to talk oblivious of all else. _“That’s the way, Missy,”_ she said delightedly in that horrible squeaky voice.  
           _“Who was Missy?”_ wondered Daniel.  
           Gottenram lifted a dirty foot and cautiously nudged Holly. She did not respond. Then he kicked her. Harry lurched from his seat; Daniel grabbed Harry’s arm pulling him back.  
           Holly continued to talk as if nothing had happened. _“You just keep one foot moving in front of the other!”_ she ordered. _“Don’t you die just yet.”_ Gottenram kicked Holly again, _hard!_ Her body lifted with the impact. It took both Daniel and Roland to keep Harry in place.  
_“I’ve got someone special for you to meet…”_ Holly continued as she slid back a meter and crumpled awkwardly in a different position. _“Just a bit more,”_ Holly encouraged giving no indication of having felt the kick. _“You can do it!”_ she added without moving.  
           Gottenram pointed both hands at Holly. His arms were outstretched on either side, bent slightly with his long yellow fingers and dirty nails pointing at Holly’s body. Gottenram spoke forcefully, something sounding like a cross between a hiss and a garbled gurgle. Holly rose into the air, spun around in a circle and then landed heavily in a heap while still talking words of encouragement. All along, she continued talking oblivious of any injuries or pain the fall must have created.  
           _“Venomous Viper!”_ Holly said and paused. Then she added, _“Just another few steps, Missy. You can do it!”_ She fell silent for a while. Everyone watched and waited. _“Almost there!”_ Holly said with a cheerful sound. There was another pause, not so long as before and then, “ _No, no, no!”_ Holly spoke with frustration. _“Not like that!”_ she scolded. More silence; aside from her lips in speech, Holly never once moved. _“There!”_ she said with satisfaction. _“That should hold you! Now you can die all you want, Missy!”_ Holly announced in a happy voice. “ _In the meantime, there’s someone I want you to see—or rather, to see you! You wait here and I’ll be right back. Feel free to die while you wait, or not… Either way, this should be good!”_  
           _“Feel free to die while you wait, or not…”_ Those were the very words Gottenram had spat at Holly! Everyone recognized them. The goblins stirred and Daniel could hear them murmuring between themselves.  
           Holly lay still and quiet on the floor. Gottenram looked again at Harry for an explanation. Suddenly Holly started to speak again. _“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ Holly repeated in the familiar high squeaky voice. She lay still and silent for a moment then said, _"Just a few more steps, Missy; you can do it!"_ she added in that same voice. _“That’s it,”_ she said encouragingly. _“Keep on going. You want to die? That’s all right with me. Just not here! I’ve someone special I want you to meet first…”_  
           _“It’s the same thing!”_ thought Daniel with surprise. _“She’s repeating herself!”_  
           The whole cavern waited and watched in silence listening as Holly continued to talk interspersing moments of silence between words of encouragement and cheerful anticipation yet a second time and started a third...  
           “Go ahead and hit her,” Harry told Gottenram during one of Holly’s lulls of silence. He was again in control of his actions. “Kick her, stab her; break her bones; she won’t try to stop you,” Harry continued stating the obvious. He stood and stepped onto the circle. “She won’t feel it,” Harry added in a voice loud enough to be heard over Holly’s squeaky pitch. “She doesn’t know you’re there.”  
           That was clear enough, but why? Daniel ran over all the things he knew about Holly. None of it fit. She seemed to be talking to someone but who? Why? Who was Missy? And why the odd accent? Who was the “special” person she wanted someone to meet? It had to be a flashback of some sort but what kind? Why now?  
           Holly’s time with Sir had to be a key somehow. _Pettigrew!!???_ Gottenram had been attacked two days after Conner Fitzpatrick. Daniel remembered reading in Holly’s account of her captivity that she had somehow used a flashback of Peter Pettigrew to mentally escape from Sir after he had attacked Fitzpatrick. Was his what she had done?  
           _“Just another few steps, Missy. You can do it!”_ said Holly. Then she lapsed into silence.  
           “There were two victims that day,” continued Harry softly while looking down at Holly. “Neither of you could get away,” he acknowledged. “But she tried very, very hard. I think she succeeded in part,” Harry continued. “At least her mind was able to leave for a while… And I don’t think he was very happy about that,” Harry added thoughtfully. “Not at all. No, I’m certain of that. Which accounts for some of the anger you experienced that night. It wasn’t directed at you,” Harry told Gottenram, “but at the one _not_ listening…” Harry looked again at Holly. Then he straightened and looked at Gottenram. “You weren’t the first victim he treated that way,” he told the goblin. “But you were the _only_ one who reported _hearing_ something…”  
            _“Almost there!”_ said Holly in that cheerful voice.  
           Harry drew a deep breath. “If I had known that you had heard,” he broke off, and then tried again, “that you could _recognize_ his voice, could identify—”  
           _“No, no, no!”_ Holly spoke with frustration. _“Not like that!”_ she scolded.  
           “I would have gone to you and … _begged_ … for your help to capture him!” There could be no doubting the sincerity of Harry’s words.  
           _“There!”_ Holly said with satisfaction. _“That should hold you! Now you can die all you want, Missy!”_ she announced happily. _“In the meantime, there’s someone I want you to see—or rather, to see you! You wait here and I’ll be right back. Feel free to die while you wait, or not… Either way, this should be good!”_  
           Harry knelt down and picked Holly up. She hung limply in his arms, her blonde hair swung loosely in the air. “She said you were in great pain,” Harry said. “You hide it well.”  
           _“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ Holly began again.  
           Harry looked down at Holly whose mind was lost her flashback. Harry stepped close to Gottenram. “Do with her as you will,” Harry added firmly while holding Holly out to Gottenram within easy reach. “There will be no recrimination.”  
           _"Just a few more steps, Missy; you can do it!"_ Holly encouraged... _“That’s it,”_ she said approvingly. _“Keep on going. You want to die? That’s all right with me. Just not here! I’ve someone special I want you to meet first…”_  
           Gottenram looked from Holly to Harry and then back to Holly. She continued talking oblivious of the world around her. The desire was there in Gottenram; Daniel could read the pain and agony in his face but—the victory was hollow with Holly like that. Daniel knew it would bring him no peace or satisfaction. In addition, Daniel suddenly saw the pride—goblin pride. One that would never permit a _wand-carrier_ to assist him in carrying out his vengeance…  
           The dagger vanished. Gottenram reached out and took one of Holly’s limp hand. With his other hand he extended a long finger and dug his jagged nail into her skin. Blood dripped from her hand and landed on the surface of the circle. It sizzled and vanished into the circle’s inky blackness. Holly did not move but continued her monologue as if he wasn’t there. Gottenram continued scratching the back of her hand with his fingernail—or was he carving something? At any rate, more blood dripped down, sizzled and vanished.  
           Gottenram stood a long time over Holly. He was definitely carving on the back of her hand, or drawing, judging from the precise movements his finger. There was some sort of magic involved too. Daniel could see Gottenram’s lips move as he worked and Daniel would hear low unintelligible sounds muttered during Holly’s intermittent lulls of silence.  
           Abruptly, Gottenram dropped Holly’s hand. “Blood Bounty has been taken,” he announced loudly turning to face the goblins within the cavern. Then he turned, stepped off the circle, and walked away vanishing from sight. One by one the other goblins stood and silently followed.  
           “Is that it?” questioned Roland when the cavern had cleared completely of goblins.  
           “It would appear so,” said Daniel with relief.  
           “Just like that? It’s over? But I thought—”  
           “That there was no way out but Holly’s death?” filled in Daniel. “Yeah, I got that impression too.” He stood and stretched his back and legs. “But then I never asked if there were other ways to claim the bounty.” Daniel stepped onto the circle. The surface still felt cold, warm and tingly. “Of course, I don’t think Griphook would have told me if I had,” Daniel added as he walked up to Harry and Holly. “But it stands to reason. You can’t settle all conflicts with death.” Roland stood also and stepped cautiously onto the circle.  
            _“You just keep one foot moving in front of the other!”_ Holly ordered.  
            Daniel pulled out a handkerchief and lifted Holly’s still dripping hand. _“Bound to be a scar of some sort,”_ thought Daniel as he wrapped his handkerchief around her hand. _“But better that than death.”_  
           _“Don’t you die just yet!”_  
           “Any idea how to bring her out of this?” Daniel asked conversationally as he knotted the handkerchief.  
           “Not a clue,” answered Harry promptly.  
           “It’s a flashback, isn’t it?” Daniel questioned as he placed Holly’s hand gently on her lap.  
           “Yeah,” agreed Roland. “Peter Pettigrew. But there are no stairs here so I don’t understand what triggered it...”  
           “Desperation,” informed Harry calmly. “You’ve got to be pretty desperate to want to listen to Pettigrew,” he added with a grimace.  
           _“I’ve got someone special for you to meet…”_ Holly continued.  
            Daniel had to agree with Harry. Already the high squeaky voice with its anticipated delight was getting on Daniel’s nerves and he’d only listened to it four times... However had Holly managed to deal with it every day on the stairs of Hogwarts two years earlier?  
           “Holly was desperate to escape Sir and very afraid of what might happen here…” Harry continued in explanation as he stepped off the circle while still carrying Holly. “She was determined to not let Sir win even if it meant her death,” he added with pride as he started walking.  
           “Where are you going?” questioned Roland.  
           “Out,” answered Harry bluntly.  
           “Um, we came in from the other way,” reminded Roland.  
           “I’m not going to walk stooped while carrying Holly unless I have to,” answered Harry bluntly. “There are obviously lots of ways into and out of here,” he added. “I’m _betting_ there are some less … difficult.”  
           “But we’ll get lost…” protested Roland while he followed Harry.  
           “I doubt that,” said Daniel as he stepped off the circle and joined them. The thought of another stooped hike did not appeal to him either.  “Not with their hearing as good as it seems,” he added while they walked. “If the goblins want us here as much as we wish to be here; when they’re ready, I’m sure someone will show us the way out.” The torches dimmed the further they moved from the circle. Harry headed towards what appeared to be an opening on the far side of the cavern.  
           “Besides, we gave our word there’d be no recrimination for whatever happened to Holly, not _us,”_ reminded Harry as he stepped into the opening.  
           _“Just a bit more,”_ Holly encouraged.  
           The opening proved to be a tunnel with a well-worn floor beneath their bare feet. Daniel again saw dim patches of light, phosphorus worms, upon the walls of the tunnel.  
           In the absence of a wand and a _Wingardium Leviosa_ spell, the three traded off carrying Holly down the tunnel as arms tired. Holly continued talking oblivious of all else.  
           “She speaks with such enthusiasm,” said Harry worriedly while they walked. “It’s like listening to Pettigrew...”  
           “I don’t think I would have liked him,” observed Daniel aloud. It occurred to Daniel that the phosphorus worms only lit the sides and ceiling of the tunnel they were in. He hoped there were no unexpected “drops” in the floor…  
           “How did Holly come out of it the last time?” asked Roland when they had stopped to pass Holly on to Daniel, “uh, with Sir?” Roland was obviously unfamiliar with Holly’s account of her time in captivity. That was not surprising as Daniel knew Dean had classified her account as one that could only be read under limited circumstances.  
           “She thought Flint was after her,” answered Harry after a moment taking advantage of a pause in Holly’s words. By this time they had heard Holly’s monologue so many times they were able time their conversation between Holly’s words thus avoid having to talk over her.  
           “Wizard Flint?” questioned Roland in surprise. “You mean she swapped one flashback for another?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “How did that help?”  
           “I’m guessing Pettigrew was a passive flashback while the Flint flashback required an active response,” answered Daniel thoughtfully. “She fought Flint the first time and she fought who she perceived as Flint again last year.  
           “So all we have to do is get Holly to change flashbacks,” said Roland. “What happened to change the flashback before?”  
           “Sir was trying to feed her,” recalled Harry.  
           “Roast beef?” questioned Roland. Everyone shuttered involuntarily. Wizard Flint was known to like roast beef. Its scent had given Holly a flashback at least once before.  
           “She didn’t say,” answered Harry, “and I never asked…”  
           “Roast beef is unlikely,” answered Daniel thoughtfully, “I doubt Sir would try to feed a comatose girl a sandwich. Holly reported she was incredibly weak when she woke so obviously hadn’t eaten in a while. More likely Sir was trying to feed her something liquid, maybe a soup of some sort...” Daniel concluded aloud. At some point Daniel realized they had begun walking upwards.  
           “Soup, right,” said Roland confidently. “And maybe roast beef.” He held out his arms and Daniel carefully gave him Holly shaking out his own arms with relief afterwards.  
           “It’s a place to start…” agreed Harry.  
           _“Feel free to die while you wait, or not…”_ said Holly once again. _“Either way, this should be good!”_  
           “If you will follow me, please,” came Griphook’s voice. Daniel hadn’t seen him standing in the darkness but he must have been waiting for them.  
           _“You just come along with me, Missy,”_ Holly began again.  
           They continued walking forward, only this time Griphook was in the lead. Presently Griphook stopped. Daniel and the others stopped as well. In front of them was a door barely visible in the darkness. Daniel noticed Harry again had a silver band glowing on his wrist.  
           _“You can do it!”_ Holly added while Griphook unlocked and opened the huge door.  
Griphook stepped aside letting the four enter first. Daniel squinted in the brighter light and quickly realized they were in the back of the bank where one took the cars to the vaults.  
           _**“She’s alive!”**_ Roland shouted to the waiting crowd. They began to cheer. He left Harry and Daniel and carried Holly into their midst.  
           “Perhaps all their emotions will help Holly,” suggested Daniel while remembering how all the wizard emotions at his Ball the previous year had affected her.  
           “I hope so,” replied Harry. He sat down and started putting on his socks and shoes which he found waiting by the door. “Except emotions were one of the things Holly was trying to avoid by using Pettigrew…”  
           Daniel sat down next to Harry. He shook out his socks and proceeded to put them on. When he had finished, Daniel slipped on his shoes. Then he grabbed Roland’s shoes, (Harry had Holly’s) accepted Harry’s offered hand and stood. The two made their way through the crowd to Holly.  
           Someone had cleared off a banking counter and laid Holly on it. Miss Becky Smith and Mr. Mark Owens stood on either side of Holly; crowded around behind them were the Potter children and Holly’s Hufflepuff classmates. Beyond that were ever more witches and wizards, mostly Hufflepuffs, all looking on worriedly. Sasha lay on Holly’s chest, her nose was buried under Holly’s neck and her paws lay on either side of the neck kneading rhythmically. Sasha had been left at Felicity’s Feline Emporium that morning. Holly was worried her cat might try to interfere with whatever happened and/or get injured. Worse, if the goblins succeeded in killing her (Holly) in the presence of Sasha, a traumatize Sasha would never recover...  
           “Where’s Roland?” asked Harry after looking around.  
           “He said he had another idea and had to get something first,” said Becky.


	27. Chapter 27

          “Is everyone ready?” asked Roland.  
Harry Potter looked around. The faces he could see, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws all nodded solemnly. Harry could sense agreement of all those witches and wizards he couldn’t actually see but were there as well. “Yes,” he answered firmly hiding his uncertainty within. It was a good plan; it should work, but would it?  
           They had sent for soup, roast beef, and all manners of aromatic food in Roland’s absence. Then Becky and Mark had lifted Holly to a sitting position. One by one, the various foods were brought up and held under Holly’s nose tempting her by their scents… None of them elicited any reaction from Holly. Stacks of food, flowers and all sorts of aromatic items lay on the counter nearby while Holly continued to make her “trip” up the stairs over and over again unaware of any efforts to revive her.  
           “Then let’s do it!”  
           Harry nodded. Mark and Becky again lifted Holly to a sitting position while everyone watched. Now, it was a matter of waiting… Holly continued to talk as if no one was there.  
           _“No, no, no!”_ Holly spoke with frustration. _“Not like that!”_ she scolded. More silence. _“There!”_ Holly said with satisfaction. _“That should hold you! Now you can—”_  
           “Thank you, Mr. Pettigrew,” cut in the dry acid voice of Headmaster Snape. “You may leave.”  
           Holly’s recitation ended mid-sentence; her mouth hung open and silent.  
           When Roland had revealed his plan there was much discussion as to the best place to interrupt the monologue. Not while actually going up the staircase, as Snape would not have joined them. _“Venomous Viper”_ was definitely the password to go up to the office. The next section of silence had to be going up the circular stairs. No one could figure out why Pettigrew had said, “No, no, no!” or what the “not like that!” was about but Holly had to be in the office at that time. It was logical for Snape to have been in the office too. In reality, he hadn’t but he _could_ have… The final sentence could only be said in Snape’s absence, so the Snape portrait had to interrupt before then…  
           “I said _go!”_ ordered the Snape in the portrait facing Holly. Ravindra Vasari and Eddie Shunpike held it in place opposite Holly. “If the perimeter has been breached once it may have been done so again…” Snape added smoothly. That was the excuse Holly had said the original Snape had used to get rid of Pettigrew when he had returned with Lord Voldemort… “Make sure the perimeter is secure and there are no other trespassers. When you are finished report back to me.” Then Snape waited. What would Holly do next? She hadn’t spoken—that was a good sign but could they keep her off the “stairs?” “Well?” demanded Snape. The question was open-ended and deliberately vague. Holly had never told anyone what exactly happened between her and the Headmaster that day. There was always the possibility of saying the wrong thing… Snape’s voice alone may not be enough…  
           “Kill me!” Holly said.  
           Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief; the monologue had stopped, but why did Holly speak of death?  
           “What?” asked Snape in surprise.  
           “Kill me, please!”  
           “Why?”  
           “They’re all dead,” Holly said tonelessly, “my family, friends, everyone! Except—I should be dead. Kill me, please.”  
           “Dementors!” whispered Becky suddenly. “There were dementors at Hogwarts!”  
           “I am not in the habit of granting student demands much less _dementor_ wishes,” began Snape imperiously. “Why should I make an exception for you?”  
           “Because, because…” Holly’s face creased in thought.  
          _ **“NOW!”**_  
           The whole Gringotts interior lit up and the cavern filled with the antiseptic camphor-like scent of Eucalyptus!  
           Certain they could reach Holly if only they could find the right odor, the Hufflepuffs had persisted in trying scents. They had tried eucalyptus as one of those scents with no success. But Rupert Shunpike insisted that eucalyptus oil didn’t smell quite the same as it did when Holly was using her wand… That resulted in everyone rubbing eucalyptus oil on their wands…  
           “But what spell do we use?” questioned one of the Hufflepuffs.  
           “None,” answered Daniel confidently. “Just swish!” Daniel was positive that the collective feelings of all the Hufflepuffs could break through any block Holly may have created against emotions. “Remember the delight you had when you found a wand that was right?” he questioned. “That’s the kind of emotion we want now: happiness. And to get it, all you did was just swish!”  
           “Diagon Alley last year,” added Harry. “I’ve never seen Holly happier than that day in Diagon Alley—and it was all because of you! Remember that day and swish!”  
           **“Keep swishing!”** shouted Daniel when the initial burst of lights from swishing had died out.  
           “Remember Diagon Alley!” came a voice from the crowd.  
           “Diagon Alley!” echoed more voices in the crowd and the lights continued with renewed energy; more and more eucalyptus scent filled the bank.  
           “Don’t stop!” urged Harry aloud but with difficulty. The prevailing eucalyptus odor made breathing hard.  
           Suddenly Holly coughed. Through the haze of fumes Harry saw her body convulse as she coughed and coughed. Holly’s hands reached out and clutched Mark’s arms to keep her balance as she coughed. Harry lifted his wand and shot red sparks at the ceiling. All the lights and swishes ceased. That was their cue to stop.  
           “Becky?” Holly gasped between coughs. “What’s going on?”  
           Roland sent a second burst of sparks into the ceiling—the all clear—Holly had recovered! Immediately the whole room burst into cheers. Holly was lifted up onto Roland and Rupert’s shoulders and carried around the bank in victory.  
           _“Expcto Patronus!”_ Harry heard her shout and a silvery cat appeared to dance above the crowds. They cheered wildly at the cat. Then the kitten shot through the wall and out of the bank. It would be going to the Wycliff home, Holly’s message to her parents that all was well.  
Neither Dudley nor Laurel had wanted Holly to come this day, especially knowing she might never return... But Holly was adamant refusing to live in fear any more and Harry had supported her.

 _“What do you mean there’s a Blood Bounty on my baby!” demanded Dudley. “What is that anyway?”_  
_“I’m not sure,” answered Harry honestly, “but it’s not good.”_  
_“Not good how?” questioned Dudley ominously._  
_“Um,” Harry hesitated. How to put this? “Like there’s a bunch of, uh, homicidal maniacs out there trying to kill Holly…” It wouldn’t do to mention goblins to Dudley. The situation was already bad enough without their name… Holly’s account of outside Gringotts with Sir had been most unnerving, especially realizing that it might have happened to Harry and his friends long ago had not the Ministry stepped in first..._  
_“Kill?” echoed Laurel plainly horrified. “Why would anyone want to kill Holly?”_  
_“I don’t know,” admitted Harry._  
_“You don’t know?” retorted Dudley angrily. “Haven’t you asked?”_  
_“Yes, I have,” replied Harry, “but they won’t answer. They won’t even talk to me! They won’t say anything about it. I’ve tried, believe me I have.”_  
_“So maybe it’s a hoax,” suggested Dudley._  
_“No,” replied Harry. “It’s no hoax. They’ve already had a go at Holly while she was with Sir and she barely escaped alive…”_  
_“No!” whispered Laurel horrified._  
_“So what are you doing about it?” demanded Dudley._  
_“We have this idea,” began Harry tentatively, “about how to get a meeting…”_  
_“And after that?” questioned Laurel._  
_“After that,” Harry faltered. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It depends on the results of the meeting…”_  
_“And so you want us to risk our daughter’s life just for a meeting?” asked Laurel softly._  
_“Yeah,” admitted Harry bluntly. “I can’t imagine what they think Holly has done,” he continued. “It’s bound to be some sort of a misunderstanding but we’ve got to meet to get it all straightened out.” He took off his glasses, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the lenses clean before speaking again. “The way it stands now,” Harry added carefully. “Holly’s life is at risk every time she steps out of this house. There will always be a chance someone will recognize her and try to claim this bounty.”_  
_“You mean kill her?” clarified Dudley darkly._  
_“Uh, yeah, probably.” Harry hedged. “Lookit,” Harry began again, “if I knew of another way to do this I would have already done it. If I could pay to have this bounty lifted I would do it in a heartbeat. But they won’t even meet to talk about it! This idea will force a meeting with them...”_

          Holly’s parents would have been watching Laurel’s healthstone anxiously all day so they knew she lived but the arrival of Holly’s patronus would ease her parents’ minds greatly…  
          Then the party commenced. The food was passed out and music began.

**********

          The celebration continued long into the night. It was nearly midnight before it finally broke up. An exhausted Holly had left with Mrs. Potter and her family much earlier but Daniel Pilkington had remained behind with Harry and Roland to make sure things ended smoothly. Finally they decided it was their time to leave. As they walked to the exit Daniel saw Griphook standing by the door. He waited until they neared and then stepped forward. “For you, sir,” Griphook said politely handing a scroll to Roland.  
           “What’s this?” Roland questioned while unrolling the scroll.  
           “Your bill,” replied Griphook firmly.  
           “Bill? For what?”  
           “Compensation for lost income and wages due to a forced closure of the bank,” began Griphook, “one day rental of the bank facility, cleaning expenses, over-time wages and employment of a security detail…”  
           Roland looked at the scroll and blanched at the figure written within.  
           Daniel took the scroll from Roland. The Goblins had lost the round against Holly and the expenses would be brutal—a way of expressing their anger at loosing. He surveyed the itemized bill. “I would argue that the forced closure is an expense that should be bourn by Gringtotts or President Gottenram,” began Daniel. “After all, there were numerous requests to meet privately with President Gottenram all of which were refused. Did he truly expect his personal problems with individual wand-carriers would not spill out into banking matters? Surely a person with such a prestigious position as “President” would realize all his actions reflect on the bank and the very act of calling for a Blood Bounty on wand-carriers could not avoid having a negative impact on the banking business.” Daniel looked down into Griphook’s black glittering eyes. “Wouldn’t it be nice,” he added, “to settle all this tonight?” Griphook scowled but nodded reluctantly. Daniel looked down on the scroll and noted the “forced closure” line had vanished from the bill and the final total had been rewritten into a lower number.  
           “And it wasn’t a full day rental of the facilities,” Daniel added. “After all, the festivities did not happen until after banking hours had ended and it is not yet midnight. I think a half day rental would be more accurate…” Daniel looked again down on the page and was rewarded by watching the number on the rental line shrink to half the amount and again the final total change to reflect this. “And both security and over-time wages?” questioned Daniel. “Surely no over-time employees were needed if you hired security or the presence of over-time employees would have eliminated the need for security…” Another line vanished from the bill. Daniel surveyed the rest of the bill. While pricy, it all looked more reasonable. Daniel knew better than to try and push his luck further. He sighed regretfully and returned the bill to Roland. “That’s the best I can do for you,” Daniel told Roland. “Perhaps you can pass the hat and if everyone chips in…” he advised.  
           Roland nodded. “Uh, I’m a little short on cash at the moment,” he told Griphook. “Could I come in and take care of this tomorrow?”  
           “Certainly,” replied Griphook, his face again inscrutably calm. “You have 72 hours to make payment. After that a one galleon late fee per day will be added to the total.”  
           “And if it still isn’t paid?” questioned Harry curiously.  
           “After 30 days the bill will be turned over to the collectors and Mr. DeWitt will be _haunted_ until the bill is settled,” Griphook replied calmly.  
           “Trust me, you do _not_ want to be haunted by bill collectors,” advised Daniel remembering some very nasty haunting cases he had helped to resolve where the unhappy victim had inherited debts instead of property upon the death of a relative...  
           “Uh, thanks,” said Roland as he put the scroll in his pocket.  
           “This is for you,” said Griphook while handing a similar looking scroll to Harry.  
           “What’s this?” questioned Harry as he unrolled the scroll.  
           “The bill for the medical and other related expenses of President Gottenram,” replied Griphook calmly, “and for the damages and injuries incurred during the incident outside Gringotts last month. There can be no negotiations on this bill,” Griphook added as Daniel reached out to take bill from Harry, “as Miss Wycliff has already claimed full responsibility for these actions in front of _witnesses.”_ Griphook glared at the three as if daring them to disagree.  
           Daniel shrugged and let go of the scroll. “He’s right about that,” he agreed regretfully. “You’re on your own with it, Harry.”  
Roland sighed. Then he reached out and took the bill from Harry’s hands. “Hufflepuff business,” he told the two firmly and added it to the pocket that already held the first bill…  
           “Thanks,” said Harry.  
           “And I suggest we get out of here before Griphook here comes up with more bills…” said Daniel.  
           “Agreed,” said Roland.  
           The two of them stepped into the entryway but Harry lingered behind. “I have information about the _male_ voice,” he began in a low voice speaking directly to Griphook. “If President Gottenram is interested, perhaps you could arrange a _private_ meeting between the two of us…”  
           Daniel’s ears perked up immediately. It was clear that something had happened to Sir; Harry had assured Daniel that it was “all over” but had failed to provide any details. That suggested something less that legal had happened to Sir, but what? Daniel hadn’t pushed for specifics, of course; that wasn’t his way especially if it might mean he would have to report something to the authorities. But that didn’t mean Daniel didn’t want to know… Sir’s fate was a puzzle, one Daniel intended to figure out.

**********

           “Did you read? There was some sort of a stand-off at Gringotts yesterday!” Anthony Richards said excitedly.  
           “Oh?” murmured Paige Crowley politely as she stirred the contents of the tiny cauldron in front of her. Paige had actually been in Diagon Alley the previous day, had seen the crowds head towards Gringotts, but when she saw Potter and Wycliff in the lead, decided her presence, even to investigate, would not be a good idea. It would not do to appear more than casually acquainted or associated with Potter or Wycliff…  
           “Yeah. Unfortunately, no one was hurt,” Anthony said with disappointment. “If I were there things would have been different!” he assured.  
           “Oh?” The liquid in the cauldron began to bubble. Paige removed it from the heat and extinguished the flame. She was in the Richards’ cellar mixing a new headache potion as she listened to Anthony. The headache had started almost as soon as they had arrived at the Richards’ residence and wouldn’t stop…  
           “Yeah,” continued Anthony, “I’d have blasted a goblin or two…” he boasted.  
           “Why?” Paige carefully measured out and then added some of the ingredients she had picked up from Diagon Alley the previous day.  
           “Just because!” exclaimed Anthony carelessly.  
           “Violence for no purpose is a waste of time,” Paige said mildly. She stirred the ingredients together until new potion glowed briefly and then turned an icy blue.  
           Anthony scowled. “They deserve it,” he insisted stubbornly.  
           “At what cost?” questioned Paige looking up from her work. “You should look to consequences before mindlessly taking action, otherwise you’ll look like a fool, _again…_ ” That was a direct reference to the Pilkington Ball affair. Despite McGonagall’s best efforts, no one had revealed the names of those who had crashed Pilkington’s Ball. In the end, she had deducted 70 House Points as a consequence practically guaranteeing the Slytherins had no way to win the House Cup this year, not that they could have anyway if Anthony’s complaints of Professor discrimination and prejudice against the Slytherins were to be taken seriously… Anthony had complained loudly about the unfairness of McGonagall’s actions. It didn’t seem to occur to him that they shouldn’t have crashed the Ball in the first place…  
           Unlike McGonagall, Tom did not need a stooge to give him answers. He had been at the Ball and had easily _recognized_ Anthony’s wand. Paige had come with Tom to his home once the holidays began because Tom intended to personally give Anthony a piece of his mind for ruining Paige’s debut… What actually came out of Tom’s mouth was a stern lecture for getting recognized—not at all what Paige expected. And then Tom decided to remain for a longer visit…  
           Anthony’s scowl deepened. “Next time,” he promised venomously.  
           “Next time do your research first,” suggested Paige. She dug around in her bag and removed a small potions bottle. “Take this suggestion to “blast” a goblin or two…,” she continued as she uncorked the bottle. “Do you know what kind of magic goblins are likely to use in defense? Are you better than them? What does Wizard law say concerning such action? The ultimate price may be far higher than the pleasure in a simple blast or two…” Paige poured the new mixture in the potions bottle and corked it tightly. It would have to sit in the cellar a few days before it would be ready to use. She set it on the table and began to clean up. Paige dearly wished she could use the potion now. Her headache had gotten worse while talking to Anthony. Anthony was like a loose cannon looking for a target! Paige was eminently glad Sir wasn’t around to provide directions…  
           “Why don’t you take your own advice!” countered Anthony in a nasty tone.  
           Paige raised an eyebrow in question.  
           “You’re obviously a disaster at potions!” he added caustically. “None of your potions work or you wouldn’t be making so many!” he explained callously. “Look ahead!” he told her. “Quit trying to make useless potions and do something you’re more suitable at—like working at an Apothecary shop and selling someone _else’s_ potions—if you think you can manage that without _blowing_ it up!” That was a direct reference to an explosion last year that had occurred while Paige was working at Wizard Ercwlff, Sorbi/Sabois shop. Paige had nearly died from the explosion. There were rumours blaming her for the explosion and Wizard’s Ercwlff’s “death” but she had never been charged.  
           “Or better yet,” continued Anthony ruthlessly, “hire on at Weasley’s to make new novelty flavours! If you manage to blow that place up nobody’d care!”  
           “And after the explosions you anticipate?” questioned Paige while neither affirming nor denying his implied accusation. “I’d be job hunting again! That isn’t very far reaching at all!” There was more to it than a simple explosion the previous year. Paige had discovered Wizard Ercwlff was one of Sir’s identities. Sir had blown up the store in response and had framed Paige while doing it. But that part was auror business and not public information.  
           “But you’d be able to claim it as work experience and become a Wrecker!” replied Anthony smugly. “There’s always something that needs to be blown up!”  
           “Anyone can become a Wrecker,” replied Paige in a cool voice, _“without_ the experience. Perhaps you should look into it—It’d be safer than taking on a room full of aurors!” Another reference to the Pilkington Ball fiasco.  
           Anthony scowled again. “When are you leaving?” he asked abruptly.  
           “Leaving?” Paige looked up at Anthony and suddenly saw Tom standing in the hall behind him. How long had he been listening? Why hadn’t he stepped in and defended her?  
           “Yeah, we’re going to the Malfoys and you weren’t invited!” explained Anthony. The smug smile had returned on his face.  
           “Not?” she questioned direction her attention to Tom.  
           “Your headaches,” Tom answered in an innocent sounding voice. “I knew you’d not be up for an extended visit...”  
           “And miss a chance to visit with the Malfoys?” replied Paige in a disappointed sounding voice. “Perhaps a change of scenery is just what I need,” she told Tom lightly. In a single motion Paige picked up the potion bottle and put it into her pocket. Then she moved past Anthony and slipped her arm seductively around Tom’s. “Do you think you could get them to agree to one more?” Paige asked while ignoring the fact that Tom didn’t return the embrace as usual.  
           “But what about your headaches?”  
           “They’re nothing,” Paige lied; her head was pounding horribly as she spoke. “Just an excuse to look through old potion recipes. Think of how many Mrs. Malfoy must have… Well?” she asked while leaning into Tom.  
           “I suppose,” he agreed reluctantly.  
           Paige smiled. “You’re the best,” she told him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go get ready,” she told him and headed off to her room. Actually Paige was going to take a dose of one of her other headache potions and then lie down for a few minutes. Perhaps the rest would help…

 


	28. Chapter 28

           “How are you?” asked Vernon with concern.  
           “Fine,” lied Holly Wycliff forcing a smile on her lips. She was seated on her bed with a book in front of her as if she were reading. She wasn’t actually reading because that required too much concentration. In truth, she hurt. A lot! Aside from her hand, which throbbed incessantly, her side hurt, no doubt the result of the two huge bruises she found and, judging from the way her chest felt, Holly suspected she had a couple of cracked ribs too.  
           Vernon brightened at her words. “Want to work out a bit?” he suggested hopefully.  
           “No,” Holly told Vernon regretfully. “I don’t think I should.” She was definitely not up to doing her forms in Tang Soo Do. Cousin Harry wouldn’t say what happened after Pettigrew started talking; his (Cousin Harry’s) emotions were angry, embarrassed and _ashamed_ by the question so Holly didn’t push. Judging from the injuries Holly discovered on her body she could guess some of what had happened and was eminently glad Gottenram hadn’t worn _shoes._ Given the depth of the hatred she had felt, Holly had fully expected to die when she faced Gottenram and was rather surprised to find herself still alive afterwards. Holly figured she had gotten off easy with anything less than death and so tried to bear her injuries without complaint.  
           Vernon frowned at Holly’s refusal to work out. Holly could tell he realized she had lied about being “fine.” “Didn’t you tell that doctor of yours that you still hurt?” he asked.  
           “No,” admitted Holly. “I didn’t want their help, not on this.”  
           Cousin Harry had promptly taken Holly to St. Mungo’s the next morning but aside from exchanging Wizard Pilkington’s handkerchief for a clean bandage, Holly had refused any treatment… She had been afraid that wizard potions and/or wizard magic would somehow undo whatever Gottenram had done to remove the Blood Bounty. It boggled her mind to think that a few drops of blood could resolve all that hatred she had felt. Despite what had happened, a part of her was certain some goblin might still try to claim the bounty.  
           Vernon frowned more; his concern deepened at Holly’s words but at least he didn’t pry further. “So what are you going to do?” he questioned worriedly instead.  
           Holly set down the opened book she had been holding and sighed. “Wait until I feel better,” she told him. Holly wasn’t so sure about the hand, but she was fairly certain the bumps, scrapes and bruises would eventually go away and the broken ribs would heal. That much would help considerably.  
           “Is there anything I can do?”  
           “Not really,” answered Holly honestly. “Just don’t tell mum and dad…” They knew about the hand, of course, but not about anything else. Dad would split a gasket if he found out about the ribs and bruises.  
           “O.K.,” Vernon agreed though he was still clearly worried. Suddenly he brightened. “I know!” he exclaimed excitedly “I’ll be right back!” With that he left. A few minutes later Vernon reappeared with a small blue paper bag. “I got this for you for Christmas,” he told Holly while handing her the bag, “but I guess I could give it to you now. Perhaps it’ll make you feel better. It’s not wrapped yet,” Vernon apologized as Holly peered into the bag. “I hope you don’t mind…”  
           “Course not,” assured Holly. She reached into the bag and pulled out two thin black leather straps with buckles connected to a long sheath of some sort. “What is it?” she asked curiously.  
           "It’s a leg strap for a knife,” Vernon told her. “A _skinny_ knife. I figured you could use it to put your, uh, wand thingy in...” Vernon trailed off uncertainly as he watched Holly anxiously for her reaction.  
           Holly stared at the strap thoughtfully and then her face split into a genuine smile. “I think it’s a terrific idea!” she told him warmly. Vernon brightened with relief and pleasure at her words. Holly hadn’t liked leaving her original wand, the wand she had gotten from Ollivanders her first year, in the dorms while at Hogwarts or packed while in Diagon Alley but everyone knew Sir had taken that wand forcing Holly to replace it with the rainbow eucalyptus wand. If they had seen Holly with her first wand and recognized it for what it was, they would have asked questions Holly didn’t want to answer… The strap would enable Holly to carry that first wand with her as well. “However did you think of it?” she added cheerfully.  
           Vernon hung his head guiltily. “Uh, Sir had one?” he admitted giving Holly pause.  
           Did she want anything even remotely connected to Sir? Holly shoved the thought aside; it was _Vernon’s_ gift not Sir’s and besides, it was a great idea. An extra wand packed away was no use to anyone! Holly smiled again. “Well, it’s _still_ a good idea!” she told Vernon enthusiastically. “Thanks ever!” Holly leaned over and gave Vernon a warm hug trying to not wince in pain as she did.

**********

           “Nice tat,” commented Miranda Jones admiringly a week later.  
           “You really think so?” questioned Holly perking up at her words while she spun the beads on her bracelet. Holly didn’t grimace nearly as much when she moved as she had the previous week.  
           “Yes. What is it?” Miranda asked. She was visiting Vernon Wycliff at his home. When Vernon had learned that Miranda would be passing through on her way to some “Immersion Language School” for the holidays (one on the Worchester “approved” list so Miranda already hated it sight unseen) he suggested she leave early and stop by and visit him along the way, in time for lunch. Vernon still regretted missing the Smeltings/Worchester Welcome Back to School Dance at the beginning of the school year when he had intended to ask her to dance. Miranda and he weren’t really close or anything, so Vernon was rather surprised but pleased when she had accepted.  Of course all those plans had been made long before the family learned about the bounty thing with Holly. And Vernon had never managed to warn his parents that Miranda was Goth, not that he really understood what Goth was…  
           “I, uh, don’t really know,” confessed Holly in answer to Miranda’s question while looking down at the back of her hand. It was still red and puffy but a black ink design showed plainly upon the skin. It looked like some sort of creature with wings and long legs.  
           Miranda’s arrival couldn’t have been timed better. Her short jet black hair with thick bangs, pasty white skin, black lips, black paint markings on her face ( _not_ tattoos,) black straight-jacket with locks, chains dangling from her pants and vampire fangs had taken _all_ the pressure off Holly. Holly’s single tattoo on the hand paled in comparison… Mum tried hard to not stare as she attempted to carry on a polite conversation with Miranda and father, well he took one look at Miranda, glared at Vernon and said accusingly, “You did this _deliberately!”_ before stomping off…  
           Suddenly Holly flushed and covered her hand up self-consciously. “Uh, I’ve gotta go,” she told Miranda hurriedly and swiftly left disappearing into her bedroom and closing the door behind her.    
           Vernon sighed. He knew Holly didn’t mean to be rude but he also knew she didn’t want to answer any questions about the tattoo, couldn’t really—at least none she could honestly tell someone who didn’t know she was a witch… “Sorry about that,” he said apologetically to Miranda. “Holly’s not been herself lately,” he added as an explanation. She hadn’t been since she’d come back with that tattoo. Yeah, sure Vernon knew she hurt but it was more than that. It was kind of weird. Holly should have been all happy that she had returned alive with only a tattoo to show for her experience but she moped instead. Vernon hadn’t been able to find out what was wrong.  
           “That’s OK,” replied Miranda. “She must have really trusted the artist to let him choose the design for her,” she added admiringly.  
           “Something like that,” agreed Vernon. He didn’t know the details of what happened with Holly but he was fairly certain “trust” had nothing to do with it.  
           “I’m surprised your parents agreed,” Miranda continued.   
           “They didn’t know about it until afterwards,” admitted Vernon, “so there wasn’t much they could do…”  
           It wasn’t until much later that mum and father discovered the bandaged hand was more than a simple injury. And when father started to explode, Holly argued back insisting she “deserved” it and she was “lucky” that was all they had done “considering…” Not that she explained further... Nor would Holly discuss having the tattoo removed, if that was even possible. Father eventually calmed down but he still wasn’t happy and scowled every time he looked at Holly’s hand. Vernon was certain father blamed everything on Cousin Harry, as usual…  
           “They could have thrown her out,” said Miranda. “That’s what happened to one of my friends when he got a tattoo…”  
           “Oh no,” exclaimed Vernon aghast. “They would never do that, not to Holly…”  
           “That’s nice,” Miranda said with a smile. And somehow Vernon felt his parents had gone up a notch in Miranda’s opinion. That was good. He kind of liked Miranda and wanted to see more of her…

**********

           “I like her,” said Holly after Miranda had left and Holly had again come out of her room.  
           “That’s good,” said Vernon Wycliff. “I like her too.”  
           “You do, don’t you,” said Holly looking up at Vernon with her green eyes.  
           “Yeah.”  
           “I’m sorry I ran out like that,” Holly added. “I just couldn’t bear the questions!”  
           “She only asked one,” reminded Vernon.  
           “Yeah, but there were so many _more_ inside of her” replied Holly, “she positively _oozed_ curiosity and I can’t even answer the simplest questions! I hope she doesn’t think too bad of me…”  
           “Naw,” assured Vernon. “She said you were “interesting.” I think that’s a good thing from her.”  
           “That’s good,” smiled Holly.  
           “So what’s wrong?” questioned Vernon.  
           “Wrong?”  
           “Yeah, you’ve been moping ever since you got back with Cousin Harry and I don’t think it has anything to do with your hand or those other injuries you won’t talk about.”  
           Holly looked down and started twisting the hem of her shirt back and forth. Vernon waited. “He’s gone!” she mourned softly.  
           “Gone?” asked Vernon blankly. “Who?”  
           Holly twisted her shirt hem more tightly tugging hard as if trying to tear it. “Pettigrew!” she whispered as if the name meant something.  
           “Pettigrew?” echoed Vernon. He tried to remember if he ever heard the name before but couldn’t.  
           “The headmaster sent him away,” continued Holly while still violently tugging at her hem, “and he left!”  
           “Headmaster?” questioned Vernon in confusion. Had Holly and Cousin Harry been at school? When? Why?  
           “I hated Pettigrew,” Holly continued no longer listening to Vernon. “I wanted him to leave ever so bad but he wouldn’t! And then he saved my life, not once but _five_ times, Vernon, _five!_ And he woke me up from an _Imperius Curse_ too!   And now he’s gone! I never thought I’d miss him,” Holly added in a rush. “But I do! Oh, Vernon, I feel so lost without him! What am I going to do?” Holly wailed flinging her arms around Vernon and sobbing.  
           Vernon returned the hug awkwardly. Holly had never cried on his shoulder before. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen her crying… “He’ll come back,” Vernon said reassuringly. It seemed like the thing to say.  
           “You think so?” Holly asked hopefully. She looked up at Vernon; her face was wet with tears.  
           “Sure,” Vernon said confidently. “When you need him. You just don’t need him now…” he ad-libbed. Vernon again wondered who the heck this Pettigrew was anyway. Maybe Albus knew, or Conner. He seemed to be good friends with Holly. Conner had given Vernon his home address before returning to school. If Holly was moping so after this Pettigrew then maybe it would be a good idea to find out more…

**********

          “Merry Christmas!” Grandmum said as she raised her glass of sparkling cider. Vernon Wycliff and everyone else raised their glasses too. Grandfather was under doctor’s instructions to not drink alcohol so no one else did either. “I must add that this was a Christmas with my dear family that I feared I might never have…” Grandmum added with tears brimming from her eyes. Everyone nodded silently and then drank.  
          Once Grandmum had assured herself that everyone was fine, mostly, (Holly still had amnesia) she had left preferring to let father deal with Cousin Harry and the _funny stuff._ When Holly had regained her memory, she and father had gone to visit the grandparents to explain things to grandfather. Holly didn’t talk about what happened except to say that Grandfather didn’t much like Cousin Harry either…  
          With the toast over, Father started passing about the food—a fine roast goose dinner complete with all the trimmings and everyone dug in. The food was marvelous—roast goose, stuffing and gravy, roast potatoes, brussels sprouts and parsnips. Mmmmm! It was all so much better than food served at Smeltings.  
          When everyone had properly stuffed themselves, mum brought out a triffle, a mince pie, and a plum pudding doused in flaming brandy (mum argued she could still serve it as the alcohol had burned off)! One by one Mum handed out a plate filled with the dessert of choice. That was when Grandfather leaned back and said, “I think we’ll spend another week before returning home…” That was odd; Grandfather and Grandmum generally liked to leave the day after Christmas.  
          “You mean you aren’t going to visit Aunt Marge?” questioned Holly.  
          _“Aunt Marge?” t_ hought Vernon with surprise. “Who’s that?” he asked aloud.  
          “I thought your Aunt Marge was dead,” said mum. “Didn’t you tell me she had died?”  
          “Uh,” said father uncomfortably. “Yeah, about that…”  
          “No,” said Grandmum. “Aunt Marge has been staying with us…”  
          “Aunt Marge is Grandfather’s sister or Grandmum’s or something,” answered Holly to Vernon.  
          “What do you mean? She’s still alive?” questioned mum to father. “Why did you lie to me?”  
          “Well, I had to or you would have insisted on visiting her,” said father to mum. “I couldn’t explain why she kept on calling me the wrong name…”  
          “Apparently Aunt Marge is terribly old and keeps calling father by his old name,” filled in Holly to Vernon.  
          “You mean Dudley?”  
          “It’s Dillon, dear,” corrected Grandmum mildly, “and it isn’t polite for you to say his name when the rest of us can’t.”  
          “Why is Aunt Marge staying with you?” questioned father to grandfather in an effort to change the subject.  
          “Well, she wants to, of course,” answered Grandmum.  
          “When did that happen?”  
          “Sometime last August,” said Grandfather.  
          “And you never said anything?”  
          “You weren’t around when it happened,” he said reprovingly.  
          “Wait a minute,” interrupted Holly. “You said since August? I don’t remember anyone being there when we visited you in October…”  
          “Of course not, dear,” assured Grandmum. “You and Dillon were coming to talk about Harry. Aunt Marge knows nothing about Harry and Hogwarts. I gave her and our neighbor my three-day B&B Shopping Spree for two in Newbury prize that I won and put them on the bus before you arrived...” Grandmum was constantly entering contests and had actually won some neat stuff (and a lot of junk too.)  
          “So why is she still at your home?” questioned father.  
          “She won’t leave,” answered Grandfather.  
          “She says she’s too afraid to,” answered Grandmum blithely, “but between you and me I think she’s lonely. We really should insist she leave though, but we thought we’d wait until after the New Year. It’s been rather nice having her around to take care of the plants while we’re away though and her dogs tend to chase off all the annoying solicitors…”  
          “Why is she afraid?’ asked mum. “I can’t believe you _lied_ to me about your aunt!” she added to father. He hunched down in his chair looking distinctly guilty. “How could you lie to me?”  
          “She says she got a phone call from someone looking for Harry,” answered Grandfather. “Marge was so scared that she packed up and left right after she got off the phone.”  
          “How come I’m the only one who doesn’t know we have an aunt?” complained Vernon. Nobody answered him.  
          “I don’t understand,” persisted mum. “Why would a call from someone looking for Harry scare her?”  
          “She obviously thought the caller was one of Harry’s friends,” answered Grandmum.  
          “What’s so scary about that?”  
          “Oh, she probably assumed the person was a deranged criminal or something,” replied Grandmum airily.  
          “None of Cousin Harry’s friends are deranged killers,” argued Holly. “Why would she think that?”  
          “Well, I may be over-stating things a bit,” back-tracked Grandmum, “but Aunt Marge has always been a bit addled…”  
          “You’re not saying everything!” accused Holly.  
          “Of course I am!” denied Grandmum righteously.  
          “Now you’re lying!”  
          “Nonesense!” Grandmum retorted as she shot Holly a look of pure annoyance perhaps realizing for the first time what having an Empath around the house was like.  
          “We told her Harry was a vicious mass murderer!” father blurted before Holly could argue further.  
          “You what?” said mum, scandalized.  
          “How could you?” cried out Holly.  
          “Rather easily,” answered Grandmum. “She was always convinced Harry was a hooligan anyway so the leap to mass murderer was no big stretch.”  
          “But why?”  
          “It was the only way we could explain why we changed our names and had to go into witness protection…” said Grandmum defensively. “We promised that Aunt Marge would never tell anyone where we were; we couldn’t tell her the truth so we had to give her a really good reason to keep quiet!”  
          “And you never corrected things?”  
          “Of course not; why should we?” answered Grandmum blithely. “Honestly, dear! That was over 20 years ago! We never intended to see Harry ever again so what was the harm?”  
          “So who was looking for Cousin Harry?” asked Vernon in an attempt to change the subject. He could tell Holly and mum were horribly upset; of the other three, only father looked even remotely distressed over the lie told, but his grandparents were correct in one thing; there was no point in arguing the right of something that happened so long ago.  
          “No one, of course,” answered Grandmum. “I already knew that Voldy thing was over so she had to have imagined the whole thing just to get our attention…”  
          “But what if she hadn’t lied?” questioned Vernon. He’d only heard about this aunt minutes ago and was reluctant to dismiss her as loony right off the bat.  
          “Seriously?” scoffed Grandmum. “No one in their right mind looking for Harry would ever ask one of us!”  
          “That’s if the person calling was actually looking for Cousin Harry,” whispered Holly. Her eyes had suddenly grown very large. “What is Aunt Marge’s last name?” she asked Grandfather.  
          “What?”  
          “Her last name!” Holly persisted with a sense of urgency. “What is it?”  
          “Uh.”  
          “Is it D-uh the same last name as you, before it was changed?”  
          “Well, yes.”  
          _“Sir!”_ Holly breathed. Her whole body oozed absolute fear as she spoke.  
          "What?” asked Grandmum with surprise.  
          “He was looking for me in August,” Holly explained. “Looking for places I might have gone! He could have gone through the telephone book and called every person with the last name of Dursely to see if he could find a relative and found Aunt Marge…”  
          “Nonsense!” poo-pooed Grandmum. “Why would you have ever gone to her?”  
          “But he wouldn’t know that,” persisted Holly. “He said he had you and Grandfather,” Holly continued. “Does Aunt Marge know where you live?”  
          “What?”  
          _“Does she?”_  
          “Of course she does,” replied Grandfather. “Why wouldn’t she? But that doesn’t matter now,” he added. “Didn’t you say you got this Sir so everything is fine!”  
          “But not in August!” replied Holly. “Nothing was fine in August! Father, do you know where Aunt Marge lives?” Holly added looking at father.  
          “Yeah,” he admitted.  
          “Can we go there?”  
          “I suppose. Why?”  
          “I’ve got to,” Holly insisted. “I’ve got to make sure!”  
          “Sure of what?”  
          “I don’t know,” she answered worriedly. “I’ve just got to go and make sure…”

**********

          Bright and early the next morning Holly, Vernon, father and Grandfather drove off to Aunt Marge’s house, cottage, actually. The auto wouldn’t fit them all so mum and Grandmum stayed behind. Grandmum was certain it was all fuss over nothing. Privately, Vernon Wycliff agreed. They’d gotten Sir; he was no longer a threat. So what if he had gone and found Aunt Marge in the summer? He hadn’t gotten her; she was fine and it was all over. But Holly was adamant; she wouldn’t let up and nothing short of a physical visit would satisfy her...  
          Vernon couldn’t see much of Aunt Marge’s place from the curb. It had a high stone fence surrounding the front yard. A large sign reading: Beware of Dogs was posted on the wrought iron gate. Everyone got out of the auto. It was a cold day. Vernon wrapped his scarf around his face, clutched his coat tightly around his body and stomped his feet while he looked about. There was a small black mailbox with the word “Dursley” in gold letters on it right outside the stone fence near the gate. Father walked up to the mailbox and opened it. Vernon stepped forward and looked inside with father. The mailbox was empty.  
          Holly walked up to the gate and peered through. Vernon walked up and joined her. The lawn within was frosty and gray with small sparkling piles of what appeared to be dog poop scattered about. Fallen yellow and brown leaves tinged with white frost obscured the walkway to the front door. The door and windows of the cottage were closed and the curtains drawn. The place looked untouched in ages  
          “See! Nothing to worry about,” assured Grandfather as he came up from behind. He reached out with a gloved hand and grabbed one of the bars on the gate. He gave the gate a hearty shake causing the lock and chain to rattle. It clanged loudly. “All secure!” he announced confidently.  
“There’s something in the door,” announced Holly. Vernon looked; sure enough there was a bit of white tucked into the edge of the door just above the knob. It was rectangular in shape and looked like it could be a standard calling card.  
          “May I look and see?” Holly asked looking up at grandfather. He rolled his eyes a bit, sighed but nodded his head. Then Grandfather reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and placed it in the lock. With a single turn, the lock popped open. Grandfather removed it from the chain causing the chain to swing free. Holly reached out and opened the gate. It creaked and slowly moved outward. When the opening was large enough Holly slipped through and walked up to the door. Her feet crunched on the frosty leaves as she moved.  
          “It looks like some sort of calling card with something written on it,” announced Holly when she drew near. She reached out and removed the card. Her body shimmered, blurred and then vanished!  
          “She’s gone!” said Vernon with disbelief. He knew such things could and did happen, but it was the first time he had ever _seen_ it—that crazy time in the white room didn’t count—he still hardly believed that had happened, not really, and even then, Holly had appeared and disappeared with that elf…  
          “Where is she?” asked Grandfather more bluntly.  
          Father moved up to the gate. “What happened?” he asked gruffly while looking inside.  
          “Holly just vanished!” Vernon told him.  
          “Perhaps she slipped inside when we weren’t looking,” suggested Grandfather unwilling to believe the obvious.  
          “No,” argued Vernon. “The front door’s still closed. She definitely vanished…”  
          Father opened the gate wider and forced his body inside. Vernon and Grandfather followed. “Holly?” he shouted as he stepped on the lawn leaving behind melted footprints and turned around surveying the area. “Where are you?” Vernon and Grandfather walked around the front lawn crunching on the frosty leaves, peering through closed curtained windows as if they could actually see through to the other side… Not that any of that would do any good; she was definitely not there.  
          “Close that gate,” father suddenly ordered decisively. Vernon hastened to obey. Grandfather helped. “Block it!” father further ordered. Vernon and Grandfather stood in front of the gate so people driving by could not see inside. “You asked how I could associate with _that kind_ ever again,” father said to Grandfather. “I know we swore we’d never have anything to do with them or that sort of stuff,” father added, “and I meant it! But when it came down to Harry and Holly or no Holly, the choice was easy. **Winky!”** father shouted. Almost immediately a small spindly creature with big ears, skinny arms and legs and a tomato red nose appeared. Vernon felt an immediate shutter from Grandfather next to him. Winky looked expectantly at father.  
          “Last year we thought Holly had died,” father continued. “It was like my world had ended. And then we learned she wasn’t dead. **Fetch Holly!”** father ordered. Winky disappeared immediately with a loud _crack._ “That _thing_ was how we got Holly back, father,” father continued, “and yeah, I hate it, hate everything about it, but family comes first. It always has, even for you, father; you took in Harry despite knowing what he was.” Winky reappeared with Holly. Holly was on her knees barfing. Winky must have gotten her mid-barf and hadn’t even waited until she was through.  
          “Go!” hissed Vernon to Winky. Holly had told Vernon that Winky must never be around father, ever! So he was doing his part to help. Winky nodded and immediately vanished. Father could call it back any time he wanted but only if he thought of it. Holly had said, “out of sight out of mind was best.”  
          “Holly, baby,” father added as he bent down. “Are you OK?” He lifted her up off the grass and leaves.  
          “It was Sir!” she whispered wrapping her arms around father. “He was _here!_ And he was waiting for her! And he’d have had her too!  
Oh, Grandfather!” Holly added. She released father and staggered over to grandfather. “Sir was _here!_ Waiting for her!” she repeated while hugging him tightly. “And if you hadn’t said all those nasty things about Cousin Harry, Aunt Marge would have never gotten scared! Never left when she did! Sir could have had her! Could have tortured her! He could have found you!” Holly sobbed on his shoulder. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! _Thank you!”_ she repeated over and over again while hugging him tightly. “I didn’t know!” Holly added urgently in a whisper. _“We_ didn’t know! I don’t think R-Roland ever found that place when we searched, or he never said—if she’d been there when we… We could of—she could have _died!!!_ Oh, thank you!”  
          Grandfather patted Holly gently while she sobbed and it occurred to Vernon that it was probably the first time Grandfather had ever been “thanked” for saying something mean or horrible…  
          “Perhaps we should invite Aunt Marge to stay with us permanently,” suggested Grandfather softly. “Would you like that?”  
          Holly looked up at Grandfather. “Oh, yes, I would?” she exclaimed through her tears. “Oh, thank you!!! _Thank you!!!”_ and she hugged him even tighter.  
          So the rest of the Christmas Holiday was spent packing up Aunt Marge’s things to put in storage. It could have been worse. When the parents and grandparents weren’t around, Holly would let Winky help out… It was their secret! Even so, Vernon was glad when it was time to return to Smeltings—he needed a rest!

**********

          “I’m done!” Tom exclaimed happily as he stepped into the room.  
          “Done with what?” asked Paige Crowley as she bottled up a new potion mixture. They were at the Malfoys. Paige and Tom had scarcely spent a day with Scorpius’s family when the Malfoys, senior, stopped by for a visit. After a couple days with their son and grandchildren, the Malfoys (senior) extended an invitation to everyone to come stay at their house for a while; Tom had agreed without hesitation. Paige, her headache persistently pounding, hadn’t argued.  
          “Our plans!”  
          “For what?” asked Paige as she corked the bottle. Unlike her headache of the previous summer, which had left with the change of scenery, (specifically France) this headache seemed to follow Paige wherever she went. It had continued while they were at the Malfoys, (Scorpius’s home) and hadn’t stopped despite being at the Malfoy mansion. Mrs. Malfoy showed Paige a well-stocked potions room and generously offered to let Paige use the contents for potion mixing. Most of the supplies were beautifully aged. Paige had mixed several basic potions again on the premise that aged ingredients might make a difference in potency… So far none of the mixtures had worked.  
           “The wedding, of course!” Tom explained impatiently. “It’s all set!”  
           “Wasn’t it set before?” Paige asked mildly as she placed the potion bottle on the table and looked up at Tom.  
           “Not like this!” argued Tom. His eyes glowed with excitement. “We’re going to have a Summer Solstice wedding where we kiss at the stroke of midnight! Isn’t that romantic?”  
           “It’s … something!” Paige managed to say without expression. Midnight functions had so many connotations, most of them negative, and none of which had anything to do with weddings!  
           “I’ve invited everyone who is anyone,” Tom continued with great enthusiasm, “Slytherin, that is,” he amended. “No one will have seen a wedding such as ours in decades!” he promised. “Maybe centuries!”  
           “But, the space!” sputtered Paige overwhelmed by the thought of a large wedding.  
           “Not to worry,” assured Tom. “The Malfoys have already agreed to let us use the mansion! They said they’d be delighted to help out with a proper traditional wedding. Their parlor is extendable, you know, and their staff has no problem preparing a nighttime reception!”  
           “Traditional?” questioned Paige with a sense of apprehension.  
           “Traditional,” confirmed Tom. “All the way! I even found someone willing to do that Handfast ceremony!”  
           “Handfast?” echoed Paige. Her persistent headache seemed to magnify to near unbearable proportions.  
           “Yeah, Handfast,” repeated Antony as he sauntered up behind Tom. “That’s the one where you swear _undying_ love and loyalty for each other,” he reminded. “You do love my brother don’t you?”  
           “Uh, yes,” she answered faintly unable to properly concentrate with the incessant pounding.  
           “Then there should be no problem with a Handfast ceremony to show all the world how much you two love each other…” There was this smug smirk on Anthony’s face.  
           Paige looked from Anthony to Tom. He waited expectantly for her agreement. She gripped the potion bottle on the table tightly. It shattered from the pressure; icy cool potion spilled out over her fingers and dripped onto the table. Shards of glass sliced into her fingers. “Oh!” she said in surprise welcoming the sudden distraction and pain. “I’d better clean this up!”  
            Anthony produced a handkerchief. “Well?” he demanded as he helped wipe up the mess. “Will you and my brother be Handfasted?”  
           Paige looked up from her own cleaning efforts into Tom’s expectant face. “No!” she managed to say.  
           “I _knew_ it!” Anthony said with satisfaction. “You don’t really love him! You just wanted our good name because yours is a _has_ -been! You can’t even make potions without messing things up,” he added disparagingly while tossing the dirty handkerchief on the table in front of Paige for emphasis.  
           Paige pulled a cleaning rag out of her bag and wound it around her bleeding fingers. When she had finished, she looked from Tom’s disappointed expression to Anthony’s infuriating smirk. Then she took Anthony’s handkerchief and shoved it into her potions bag. “I’d better leave,” she whispered.  
           Paige left the potions room and hurried up to her bedroom. Tom and Anthony followed. With her uninjured hand, Paige cast a spell that swiftly gathered the rest of her things and stuffed them into her potions bag. It had an extendable charm on it. The two brothers watched silently making no move to help or hinder. Without another word Paige left the house thankful she had managed to close the door behind her before the tears started to fall…

**********

          Minerva McGonagall barely heard the sharp rap on her office door when the knob turned and the heavy door opened. Usually visitors waited to be invited in before opening the door. She looked up at the intruder and hastily stood. “Mr. Malfoy,” she said courteously by way of greeting. “Won’t you have a seat?” Malfoy had been a Hogwarts Governor since, well, before Harry and Draco had started Hogwarts... Though Malfoy hadn’t ever attended a meeting while Minerva had been Headmaster, to Minerva’s knowledge, he had never submitted a letter of resignation from the position and no one had taken his name off the list...  
           “It has come to my attention that the staff at Hogwarts has been discriminating against some of its students!” Malfoy said without preamble electing to remain standing.  
           “What?” asked Minerva in confusion.  
           “I have here a letter of complaint and a petition signed by several parents who agree with me,” Malfoy began while handing a scroll to Minerva with a sweeping gesture. “A copy of the letter and petition has already been sent to the other governors, the Ministry and one was sent to the _Prophet_ as well,” he added imperiously. “Such things cannot be swept under the rug!”  
           “How kind of you,” murmured Minerva while taking the scroll. It would have been kinder still had Malfoy started with her instead of the _Prophet_ but it was too late for that. “But what is this all about?” she asked looking up at Malfoy without opening the scroll.  
           “I told you! Discrimination!” he answered righteously.  
           “Discrimination?”  
           “Yes!”  
           “Perhaps you could explain in more detail…”  
           “You and the Hogwarts staff have engaged in blatant discrimination against Slytherin students resulting in unfair assignments of detention and deduction of house points!” he accused.  
           “What?”  
           “Starting with yourself— _seventy_ points deducted from the Slytherins? Appalling abuse of authority!”  
           “That was not randomly done!” argued Minerva. “That was because—”  
           “Somebody crashed the Pilkington Ball!” filled in Malfoy. “I know. Where’s your _proof_ that the Ball was crashed by Hogwarts students? I was there. I say that they were not students! You have assigned blame with no evidence!” Malfoy took a step forward. “And I have no doubt the other disciplinary consequences assigned by your staff were equally spurious!” he added confidently.  
           “How _dare_ you accuse my staff of sp—” Minerva sputtered.  
           “How _dare_ you let the staff treat Slytherin students like common thugs and criminals!” interrupted Malfoy. “It’s time we let the past go and stop blaming all Slytherins for the sins of You-Know-Who!”  
           “These aren’t the sins of You-Know-Who!” retorted Minerva tartly. “The Slytherin students did those things all on their own,” she assured, “and deserved every detention they got!”  
           “I doubt that very much,” replied Malfoy confidently, “but while we’re on the subject of deserved detentions I feel obligated to mention the one not receiving detentions most definitely deserved—Miss Wycliff!”  
           “Miss Wycliff?” said Minerva disconcerted by the change in subject.  
           “Yes! I understand she caused a near riot outside Gringotts and no one raised an eyebrow!”  
           “That was after school let out,” replied Minerva.  
           “Not the one _in_ Gringotts,” corrected Malfoy, “though that was despicable as well, I mean the one _outside_ Gringotts nearly a month earlier! There are witnesses, you know. In the middle of the week when all students are expected to be _at_ Hogwarts Miss Wycliff is out gallivanting around Diagon Alley! Not only that,” continued Malfoy, “Miss Wycliff has been absent from class for nearly _three_ months and reappears as if her absence was nothing out of the ordinary! You’d think that alone would merit a few detentions or deduction of house points or anything, but nooooo! Not Miss Wycliff, not the _Potter_ Cousin! What happened? Did he have a word with you about her and make it all right? Well, it’s time someone had a word with you on behalf of the Slytherin students and make it “all right” for them! This kind of favoritism has got to stop!”  
           “You’re right!” agreed Minerva suddenly.  
           “Huh?”  
           “Miss Wycliff _was_ outside Gringotts on a weekday without my express permission and house points should be deducted…” Minerva had learned that agreement was the fastest way to take the wind out of an angry parent; Malfoy was no different.  
           “Ten points sounds about right, don’t you agree?”  
           “Ten points!” sputtered Malfoy, “but—”  
“Seventy points—seven students,” interrupted Minerva. “That’s ten points per student. And the Slytherin students got off easy. Miss Wycliff doesn’t deny her activities while the Slytherins _hide_ behind masks and cloaks. They _were_ there and I should deduct more for _lying!_ As for the rest of this,” Minerva added holding up the scroll in her hand, “I shall review it very carefully and give it all the attention it deserves. Good day, Mr. Malfoy!”

 


	29. Chapter 29

          “Check it out!” exclaimed Anthony Richards excitedly while holding out his wand for Scorpius to see.  
           “Neat!” approved Scorpius. He had just finished dressing and was about to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast. All the students had arrived at Hogwarts the previous day after the Holidays and were getting ready for class. “How’d you do that?”  
           “Not sure,” answered Anthony. “I put it in the drawer next to my bed when I was unpacking last night,” he began. “Then I put my wand in the same drawer when I went to bed… I guess they must have touched. “  
           “That is _so_ cool!” exclaimed Scorpius in admiration. “Can I try?”  
           “Sure.”  
           Scorpius pulled out his wand and touched the tip of the wand on shimmering silver surface. A thin stream of silver traveled up the wand and wrapped around the base of the wand where it would be covered by a hand when held…  
           “Wait till we show the others!”

**********

          “What on earth did you do to your hand?” exclaimed Martina Goyle loudly in disgust.  
           Holly Wycliff quickly hid her hand at the words feeling terribly self-conscious about the tattoo and wishing there were some way to get through school without having to go to class. Her hand still throbbed some but otherwise did not really hurt. Maybe gloves would help but no one else wore gloves, except outside…  
           “Oh, buzz off!” said Becky protectively.  
           But Shirley Ogg swiftly grabbed Holly’s arm and pulled her hand into view. “At least it’s more interesting than your skinny braid. What is it anyway?” she asked critically.  
           “What’s it to you?” demanded Mark stepping nose to nose with Ogg.  
           “It’s a cricket!” snapped Holly easily twisting her arm out of Ogg’s grip. Susan had recognized the stylistic design immediately and had enviously asked if Holly thought the goblins would do one for her too…  
           “A cricket?” criticized Scorpius Malfoy while grabbing on to Holly’s wrist pulling it out for a closer look of his own. “Why would you disfigure your hand with that?”  
           “None of your business!” Holly snapped while breaking free of Scorpius’s grip too. “Leave me alone!” she added suddenly realizing she was surrounded by Slytherins! Why? Holly peered through and around the Slytherins in time to see several students slip and fall on something at the classroom entrance. The Slytherins laughed turning their attention from Holly to the fallen students, now covered in some dark substance that stained their skin and clothes black. Obviously the Slytherins had surrounded Holly to create a distraction while someone else set up the slippery stuff… Holly glared. “Why don’t you leave us all alone?” she asked angrily.  
           “Now why would I have anything to do with a _Mudblood_ like you in the first place?” questioned Anthony Richards. His hazel eyes flashed coldly as he spoke and he had emotions to match! Suddenly Holly shivered. Richards reminded her of— _Richards!_ Prefect Richards in that other world calling her a “filthy Mudblood” before he dragged her down the halls! This was wrong! Seriously wrong! Richards wasn’t anything like that last year… Why had he changed so?

***********

          “Are there any other questions before we continue our practical review of jinxes and hexes for the O.W.L.s?” ask Professor Lovegood in her usual serene voice. Professor Lovegood had chosen to start the New Year wearing purple—a purple robe, hat, purple hair and purple violets dangling from her ears.  
           “Miss Gyole?”  
           “I want to know if you’ll make it “all right” with the examiners for me, too!” she said in a snarky voice. Holly Wycliff immediately hunched down feeling horribly self-conscious. Martina Goyle had obviously read the article that made headlines in the _Prophet_ that morning…  
           “If you suspect your scores will not be the ones you desire, perhaps you should study more,” suggested Professor Lovegood serenely without answering the question.  
           “Oh, I’ll study,” assured Goyle, “I was just planning a trip to Switzerland next month and wanted to make sure it wouldn’t affect my scores…” Holly tried to hunch down even further. Her long, only recently remarked upon, absence from class had already sparked all sorts of discussion from the other students—mostly from the Slytherins, of course, and none of it was good. It was impossible defend that absence without explaining things and Holly refused to explain. So those who knew had to let the rumors and speculations continue unanswered.  
           “As always, the scores on the O.W.L.S. depend on performance not attendance,” replied Professor Lovegood. “Scoring is done by Ministry representatives not me,” she added. “Perhaps you should direct your questions to them. And now, if you will close your books we can move to the practice room.”  
           “Is it true you and the rest of the Hogwarts staff have an arrangement with Potter to pass Wycliff?” asked Anthony Richards. Albus surged towards Anthony in anger at the suggestion but was held back by Taylor and Conner.  
           “Of course,” Professor Lovegood answered without any hint of guilt, “as do all of your parents and guardians.”  
           _“Huh?”_ Her words caught everyone by surprise.  
           “But the arrangement only guarantees instruction not _passage_ of classes,” she continued informatively. The Professor raised her wand and sharply rapped the huge mirror five times. The mirror swung open like a door revealing the Defense Against the Dark Art’s practice room. “It’s called _tuition,”_ she told the class as she pocketed her wand. “And I shall expect a summary list of all the jinxes and hexes practiced in here, Miss Wycliff,” the Professor added. “The rest of you should form two rows and decide on your first hex. Be sure you can counter the hex you select for you will be expected to do so to receive full credit for your work.” She entered the room without further hesitation. All of the students followed the Professor, except Holly. She remained seated and instead pulled out a quill and paper. Holly hadn’t been able to practice against her classmates since her first year; she was an Empath and that gave her an unfair advantage when she fought against students with emotions.  
           The mirror door closed and Holly started making her list. Soon after she felt the familiar jolts and pings that indicated spells had been cast successfully. Holly could block the outside emotions so she would sense of only those emotions closest to her, but she usually didn’t. She felt more secure that way. But today Holly couldn’t concentrate properly on her assignment. The jolts and pings were unusually painful. Normally, the closed barrier of the mirror muffled things but not today. The Slytherin emotions came through particularly strong—even stronger than what Holly remembered before the holidays. In fact, the Slytherin emotions had seemed unusually strong when she entered the Great Hall to eat that morning and in the hallway before class.  
           Had something happened to make the Slytherins different or had her abilities increased? Perhaps the differences she sensed were merely the result of her own changing body and teenage hormones… More likely her experience with the goblins had something to do with her increased sensitivity. That’s what Holly secretly feared. She was afraid that the goblins’ intense hatred and anger and the tattoo that still throbbed on her hand had somehow magically affected her. Holly wished there was a way to find out for sure but wouldn’t ask. Ever since Sir, Holly had refused to let her abilities be tested; she didn’t want to know for sure herself or anyone else knowing what she could and could not sense as an Empath and she would not change that now.  
           Holly sighed and forced her attention back on her work; she would just have to suffer in silence, observe and do the best she could while she tried to figure things out…

**********

           “How’d you find out she was here? Richards tell you?”  
           Paige Brenna Crowley stopped what she was doing and lifted her head to listen. She recognized the voice as that of Becky Smith.  
           “No, Richards told everyone he was glad that has-been-looser-floozy was out of their lives,” came the voice of Holly Wycliff. “Paige is no Has-been,” assured Wycliff. Wycliff had been one of the few witches who still believed in Paige’s abilities after Aunty “D” had passed out those horrible rumours. “But I don’t think they’re getting married any more…” Wycliff added in a sorrowful voice. After breaking off the engagement, Paige could have remained in the flat she and Tom had leased together, but Paige preferred to remove herself completely from any reminders of Tom. Aberforth Dumbledore of the Hog’s Head had given her a good rate and had no objections to Paige redecorating or seeing clients in her room; she only had to return the room to its original state when she left.  
           “Conner told me about Paige,” continued Wycliff.  
           “Conner?” came the voice of Mark Owens.  
           “Yeah, he apparently saw her when he got off the Express last week.”  
           That would be Conner Fitzpatrick. Paige remembered being at the Express when the students arrived. She had been expecting a potions supply shipment at the time. Paige had kept to the shadows letting the students leave first but Fitzpatrick must have noticed her anyway. He was surprisingly observant. As an auror, Paige had insisted on reading all the information on the investigation of the S‘N S explosion the previous year. Fitzpatrick was the witness who had seen Wizard MacVelee (a “Sir” alias) standing outside the S ‘N S shop before the explosion and had possibly saved her (Paige’s) life after the explosion (“Tried to kill you more likely,” Tom had grumbled) but Paige had doubted that knowing Fitzpatrick was Gryffindor… Paige rose from her seat and began emptying the outer room of her personal items leaving behind the table, two chairs, a lit candle in an heirloom snake holder and matched set of settees.  
           “So why’d you asked Wizard Dumbledore if he knew where she was?” came a new voice. Paige recognized it as Susan Breysburry.  
           “Cause I met her upstairs here last time,” answered Wycliff.  
           _“Last time...”_ remembered Paige. _“That’s when Wycliff thought there was something wrong with the Sabois…”_ Paige had paid Dumbledore extra to hide Weasley Extendable ears along the hall and up the back stairs. They alerted Paige of the arrival of clients and sometimes gave her extra information about the problems the client wished assistance on…  
           “Why?” questioned a younger voice curiously. Paige didn’t recognize the voice but she was fairly certain it was another Hufflepuff. Paige slipped on her consulting gown, while she listened. It was pure white with emerald green and gold dragons embroidered on it. White was the colour of mourning in Asia but no one here needed to know that.  
           “I, uh, was hurting,” replied Wycliff. Wycliff was hurting, but not physically. Paige doubted Wycliff would want to admit that she had gone to Paige because of a drink everyone but her (Wycliff) liked… And there _had_ been something wrong with the Sabois. But the Ministry had taken care of the problem quietly without letting the public know how Wizard Ercwlff (another Sir alias) had addicted them all…  
           “So, you’re going to see her about your hand, right? I _knew_ it was hurting you!” exclaimed another younger voice.  
           “No, it’s not!” retorted the empathic voice of Holly. “I have to see her about something else! Something that, uh, happened _before_ then…”  
           _“Hand? What’s with the hand?”_ wondered Paige as she tied a white silk scarf around her neck and wound her long black hair into a bun on the top of her head securing it into place with a gold serpent comb.  
           “But I have to talk with her alone,” Holly added. “It’s a, uh, consultation…”  
           There came a loud knock on Paige’s door. Paige quickly turned “off” the Extendable Ears, draped herself artfully on the settee and whispered a disillusionment charm to hide herself from view. There came a louder knock on the door. Paige pointed her wand at the door and the door swung open.  
           Five Hufflepuff heads poked in—no, only four. Wycliff stepped fearlessly all the way into the room. She looked considerably different from the shy beaded creature Paige had seen creeping into the same room last year. Wycliff was dressed in the latest teen fashion—not grunge, but something smart and flattering. She wore a trim canary yellow dress, not too short, and black tights with a black vest and jacket bearing the Hufflepuff crest. Wycliff also carried a small matching black and yellow clutch bag embossed with the Hufflepuff crest. A single strand of silver with a tiny heart shaped pendant hung from her neck. Wycliff’s long blonde hair seemed to shine in the candlelight. It was parted in the middle. A Weasley sunflower clip had been placed on one side to keep the hair from her face. A single slender braid finished with a black bead kept the hair on the other side out of her eyes. The rest of the hair was brushed smooth and had a gentle curl to it. Wycliff’s left wrist sported a colourful beaded bracelet and short black lace fingerless gloves covered her hands—neither looked bad, but Paige couldn’t see much under the lace…  
           “It’s empty!” exclaimed Donald Wrezenski with disappointment as he looked into the room.  
           “No it’s not,” stated Wycliff confidently. “Look!” She nodded to her cat Sasha who sat under Paige’s settee.  
           _“Busted!”_ thought Paige without anger. She’d have to think of some other way to get around the cat, or not. The cat was only a problem with Wycliff and Paige already knew Wycliff fairly well; she could learn what she needed to know from Wycliff without the intimidation of an empty room. Besides, it didn’t matter as much with the Extendable Ears helping out… Paige moved her wand and gave the silent release of her disillusionment spell causing her to become visible. “Five?” she questioned aloud in her icy voice. “Do you all have the same symptoms?” Paige knew the only person who wanted to see her was Wycliff, but seriously, wasn’t traveling together in groups of five a bit much even for the Hufflepuffs?  
           “Uh, no,” said Wycliff clearly a bit disconcerted by the question. “It’s, uh, only me…” She looked down as she spoke—a clear sign it wasn’t for her, or only her… Wycliff looked up. “Wait for me outside,” she told the others, “I won’t be long.” Wycliff closed the door on her friends and turned to face Paige.  
           “Can they hear me outside?” Wycliff asked worriedly.  
           “No.”  
           “Good. Cause I need a potion!”  
           _“Duh!”_  
           “I’ve got money!” Wycliff added in a rush. “I’ll pay for it and everything! But it needs to be really, really good! And you can’t tell anyone! Here are the symptoms!” Holly reached into her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I think I got them all; I hope I did…” She handed the paper to Paige.  
           Paige unfolded the paper. Pain, extreme pain: back, legs, arms, fingers, hands, feet, head, muscles, headaches, dizziness. The list went on and on. Paige looked at Wycliff. “Yours?” she asked knowing the answer already. Wycliff was the picture of good health. Someone with symptoms like this belonged in St. Mungo’s.  
           “Um, no,” Wycliff mumbled looking down again.  
           “I don’t make potions without the client,” Paige told Wycliff flatly. “The _real_ client.”  
           “Oh, but you must!” exclaimed Wycliff earnestly. “He won’t come in! Ever! But he’s in such _pain!!!”_ Paige stared at Holly. Hearsay was no way to make potions no matter how good an Empath she thought she was…  
           Wycliff looked down; her hair didn’t cover her face as it used to. Paige waited. Finally, Wycliff could stand the silence no more. “It’s a goblin!” she mumbled.  
           _"Goblin!"_  
           “Gottenram!” Wycliff added looking up. “ Sir did it!” Wycliff continued. “Used him to test me last year but I didn’t know and Sir got ever so mad…”  
           “There’s no record of Sir torturing a goblin,” Paige said aloud. She had read the summary of Wycliff’s experience (the actual account was _sealed_ requiring Thomas’ written approval.)  
           “I told you, I didn’t know!” explained Wycliff. “That’s why it’s not in the account…” How could an Empath “not know” something like that and then “know” it now? Paige kept her face free of expression while she stared at Wycliff.  
           Wycliff looked down again. A faint hint of red crept up her neck. “I was listening to P-Pettigrew at the time…” she finally mumbled.  
           “Pettigrew?” echoed Paige with surprise. She only knew of one Pettigrew—and he was long dead… The family _was_ crazy!  
           “Yes!” stormed Wycliff looking up with renewed vigour. “But that’s not important now. The important part is that Sir brutalized Gottenram and I’ve got to make it _right!_ I’d do it myself, if I knew how, but I don’t and Gottenram hurts something terrible! Please help me! Please!” begged Wycliff. “He’s a banker, you know, and terribly proud,” Wycliff added informatively. “He won’t ask for help but I’ve just got to try!”  
           _“Banker!”_ thought Paige. The fracas in Gringotts! Was this what it was about? And before that, Potter had asked Paige if she knew anything about Blood Bounties (nothing)—wasn’t that right after Tom had reported that there were some goblins chasing a witch and wizard behind Gringotts… Were they all connected?  
           “Let me see your hand,” Paige instructed aloud. She wouldn’t inquire about the rest but the hand…  
           Wycliff’s left hand instinctively covered her other, almost guiltily. Paige waited.  
           “You’ll help?” Wycliff questioned anxiously. Paige said nothing. She stared silently at Wycliff. Eventually, Wycliff’s left hand crept up the right to the edge of the glove and pulled it down…  
           The tattoo beneath was exquisite—definitely goblin design. Paige had no idea goblins could tattoo or tattoo so well. How long had that taken to do? _“Yes,”_ mused Paige thoughtfully to herself, certainly long enough for Wycliff to remember the symptoms of the one doing the tattoo, if it had been Gottenram… Could bankers make tattoos? “Gottenram do that?” she asked bluntly.  
           “Um, yes,” answered Wycliff in an uncertain voice.  
           _“You don’t know?”_ asked Paige silently. _“There’s a lot you don’t seem to know…”_  
           “It doesn’t bother me, honest!” Wycliff blurted reflecting the concern expressed by the other Hufflepuffs about the hand and, perhaps, Wycliff’s own private worries…  
           “What do you know about goblins?” Paige questioned softly.  
           “Um, they’re short and have big feet?”  
           “That’s not enough to make a potion,” observed Paige quietly.  
           “I know,” admitted Wycliff. “That’s why I need you. Please?”  
           Paige considered the situation. She didn’t know much about goblins either. Could she make something to help? Did she want to? They were dirty and stank! They were _inferiors!_ On the other hand, business was business. If Paige turned down every inferior client, she’d have none left. Besides, Goblins were reputed to be very wealthy. They could be a potentially lucrative clientele… There could be some reference books on the subject…  
           “I will look into it,” Paige told Wycliff.  
           “Thanks!” said Wycliff giving a smile of relief. “Um, how much???” she asked uncertainly while opening her bag.  
           “We can discuss that later,” Paige told Wycliff smoothly. Wycliff was under-aged and couldn’t contract for potions. There were probably ways around that. “If I decide to make something…”  
           “O.K. Thank you again.”

**********

 

_Dear Vernon,  
_

_Pettigrew is the name of some dude whose voice Holly kept hearing in her head while on the stairs as some sort of flashback. He’s long dead and I’m glad to learn she no longer hears him. Holly used to make the worst faces while going up the stairs. Does that help?_  
_Sincerely,_  
_Conner_

          Did it help? Vernon Wycliff wasn’t sure. It was good to know Holly had one less flashback to deal with but was it good that she seemed to miss it so? Perhaps Holly had gotten over this Pettigrew guy by now in which case Vernon’s letter was more of an excuse to keep touch with Conner than anything else. Conner, despite the weirdness, seemed to be sort of an O.K. kind of chap. If anything was wrong with Holly, Vernon was certain Conner and Albus would notice and try to help. Vernon folded up the letter and returned it to its envelope. The ink on Conner’s mail didn’t vanish like Holly’s did so Vernon briefly considered whether Conner had written something he didn’t want getting around the school should the letter get stolen.  
          There was less chance of that happening these days. Montague was too wrapped up in Ibbot and wedding plans to care about Vernon; beyond observing that Smeltings had taken a “major turn for the worst,” he hadn’t said a word about Vernon’s return after nearly three months absence from school. Trevor had stopped by once to make sure both Kenny and Vernon knew they were _not_ invited to the wedding… Nor was Pittman, either, as he now hung out with Vernon and Kenny.  
          “Hey there!” Vernon looked up as Miranda slid into the seat across from him. The buckles on her black straight jacket gleamed in the flickering lighting inside the café.  
          “Hey!” answered Vernon as he hastily stuffed Conner’s letter in his pocket.  
          “You got it?” Miranda asked eagerly.  
          “Course!” replied Vernon. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a slim laptop computer, Miranda’s.  
          “It’s all done?” Miranda asked as Vernon handed the laptop back to her.  
          “Yep!” Vernon answered confidently. “Removed a stack of viruses, some spyware and then took it apart and cleaned it for good measures!” Vernon added proudly.  
           Nearly three months of inactivity at his house in the Fall had taken its toll on Vernon. He played video games until he tired of them and then tried to figure out why he could receive but not _send_ messages over the internet. It eventually occurred to Vernon his problems were all due to Cousin Harry, but not before he had tried all sorts of computer repair methods… Then, in sheer boredom, Vernon had taken his computer apart and put back together so many times he could do it blindfolded.  
           Over the holidays, Grandmum had complained about how slow her computer had gotten so Vernon had obligingly tried all the things he had done earlier to his computer and successfully improved Grandmum’s computer’s run time, much to her delight... When Miranda had complained about her computer performance, Vernon offered to see what he could do…  
           “Sweet!” said Miranda approvingly with a smile that revealed her vampire fangs. They were removable caps, Miranda had informed Vernon. Once he had gotten used to them, Vernon decided the fangs looked rather cute on Miranda when she smiled.  
           Then Miranda’s face turned solemn. “Um, I’ve a friend with computer problems…” she began hesitantly. “The guy at the computer store wouldn’t help,” she continued. That meant the friend was probably Goth like Miranda. Vernon had learned a lot about the Goth community after meeting Miranda and knew they weren’t popular with the locals. “Do you suppose you could uh, look at it?” Miranda looked hopefully at Vernon.  
           “Uh,” Vernon hesitated. Would he have enough time with all his schoolwork?  
           “She’ll pay…”  
           Pay? “Sure!” answered Vernon promptly. He’d make the time.

**********

          “What information?” demanded Gottenram imperiously. He was seated comfortably at a burnished mahogany table and hadn’t bothered to suggest Harry take the chair across from him before speaking.  
           President Gottenram arranged no formal meeting with Harry Potter. Harry had stepped into Gringotts to make a withdrawal just after the New Year but instead of being led to the back of the banks and the vaults, Griphook had taken Harry to the very private rooms on the sides of Gringotts. “President Gottenram wishes to speak with you,” informed Griphook by way of explanation.  
           Harry could have refused but he didn’t. After all, it was he who made the suggestion to Griphook.  
           “You need not worry about him attacking you again,” answered Harry Potter calmly not bothering to sit in the chair located across from Gottenram. This would be a short meeting.  
           “I do not worry,” answered Gottenram proudly.  
           “Of course not,” agreed Harry easily though he was certain Gottenram lied. He (Harry) had worried; Holly had worried; Conner had worried and they had all known more about the “invisible” attacker than Gottenram.  
           “Why should I not … worry?” Gottenram backtracked.  
           “That information will cost you,” replied Harry steadily while meeting Gottenram’s proud black glittering eyes with his own green ones.  
           “What?”  
           “You must lift the Blood Bounty.”  
           “It is lifted,” said Gottenram without hesitation.  
           _“Goblin_ word!” said Harry forcefully while lifting his clenched fist, his wrist showing the silver band Gottenram had once insisted Harry wear. There was no way a Blood Bounty, especially this one, would have been lifted in such a cavalier manner!  
           “Never!” hissed Gottenram with unrepressed fury.  
           “You must!” insisted Harry, “or I will speak no further.”  
           “I could force you!”  
           “You could try,” agreed Harry, “but it won’t work. Not this time,” he assured Gottenram with confidence. Hermione had already cooked up a spell similar to the one that insured their silence about the Gringotts break-out, just in case. It wasn’t only Gottenram who would have questions about Sir after wizard memories returned. Harry needed protection against all of them.  
           “I have gold,” suggested Gottenram slyly...  
           “Yes,” agreed Harry not moved by the offer. “But not for this. My information is accurate; I have named my price and it is not negotiable.” Griphook had once implied that the price of _accurate_ information was both expensive and could not be negotiated. Harry emphasized those points now.  
           “Why not?” demanded Gottenram. “You know what he is!”  
           “Yes,” agreed Harry, “but I will not be party to his murder.”  
           “So he lives?”  
           Harry did not answer.  
           “Then we will find him on our own!” declared Gottenram.  
           “Of course,” agreed Harry neutrally, “and should that happen, I would bear no responsibility for afterwards.” But Harry did not think they would find him. He’d made inquiries. While goblins were not expressly forbidden within St. Mungo’s, no goblin had ever sought medical attention there.  
           “I don’t understand!” persisted Gottenram. “You _killed_ the Dark Lord and now you _shield_ this one?”  
           “Believe it or not, Lord V—the Dark Lord’s death was his own doing, not mine,” informed Harry. “I will _not_ be party to murder,” he repeated firmly. “I’m going now,” Harry added. “I have other business to conduct. Good day.” And Harry left the room.  
           It mattered not to Harry if Gottenram learned the fate of Sir. He’d only made the suggestion to Griphook because he knew Holly would want him to. Holly was determined to make things “right” with _all_ Sir’s victims as much as possible; that desire would not change even if Sir’s victim was a goblin.  
           But it would matter to Gottenram. Harry knew they would meet again when Gottenram was ready; Gottenram’s need to know would eventually overcome his rage.

**********

          Wizard Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement heard a slight tap on the door. He rose, locked his office door, and then opened his second door, the one that looked like a window with appropriate weather showing on the outside. That was the secret door reserved for aurors—a way they could come in and out for meetings without being observed by the general wizard population…  
           Matthew Kirkland, Sean Finnegan and Ravindra Vasari, walked in. All three had recently finished Hogwarts and had taken their vows becoming aurors in the last year. Matthew was tall with brown hair and brown eyes. He had once played a chaser on the Gryffindor quidditch team and was working as a bailiff—one of the entry-level positions available in the Magical Law Enforcement Department of the Ministry. Sean was shorter than Matthew. He had red hair and green eyes and worked at the Leaky Cauldron. Thick curly black hair, sharp brown eyes, incredibly smart, Ravindra was studying to be a barrister. She had already successfully worked on two Sir-related cases for Dean plus helped with the debriefing of Holly when she had been rescued. It boggled Dean’s mind to realize he had forgotten all of that. He wondered if Ravindra had noticed the gaps in her memory at the time but didn’t ask. It was best to not publicly acknowledge any of that.  
           “Thank you for coming,” greeted Dean. “Please, have a seat,” he added indicating the three vacant chairs across from his desk. He went to his own chair and sat down.  
           “I have an assignment for you,” Dean began without preliminaries when they had all settled in their chairs. “It’s not an official assignment,” he continued, “which means you won’t receive active duty pay, but I hope you’ll accept anyway…”  
           “What is it?” asked Matthew curiously.  
           “It’s about Miss Crowley,” answered Dean.  
           “Oh?” They waited for him to go on.  
           “She was engaged to Mr. Richards,” continued Dean, “but I believe the wedding has been called off…”  
           “It has?” Sean said blankly.  
           Dean sighed and mentally rolled his eyes. It was clear Paige had not made many friends while at Hogwarts, if any. It was a good thing he had sources other than these three. “Yes,” he told the trio firmly. “And I would like you to uncover the reason why…”  
           “Why?” asked Matthew bluntly. “Richards is a major blowhard and Crowley is an ice queen. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to marry either of them let alone each other…”  
           Definitely no friends at Hogwarts… “I remind you that the last time Miss Crowley and Mr. Richards broke up it was due to an _Imperius Curse,_ one which no one seemed to have noticed,” replied Dean coldly. “I would hate to see that repeated…” He was rewarded by downcast eyes and an expression of embarrassment from all three. They went to class with Paige, trained with her; they should have noticed; why hadn’t they?  
           “Why don’t you ask her?” questioned Ravindra.  
           “Because I am also her employer,” replied Dean. “Such questions coming from me might be perceived as … intrusive.”  
           “Like they wouldn’t be coming from us?” countered Matthew. “It’s not like I got an invitation to the wedding or anything…”  
           “Yes, well, Miss Crowley is rather proud,” admitted Dean. “I suspect your inquires will have to be conducted very discretely. You three worked with Miss Crowley while at Hogwarts and should know her the best. If anyone can ferret out what’s going on, I have no doubt it will be you,” he added confidently.  
           “And when we find out?” questioned Ravindra.  
           “If it’s another _Imperius Curse_ or something dark in nature, I expect you to take care of it, if possible, and then report back to me at which point the investigation becomes official with retroactive pay.”  
           “And if it’s not?”  
           “Then use your discretion,” Dean told them. “If Miss Crowley does not wish to get married, well and good, but if something else is at play, then I expect you to do what you can to, ah, _fix_ it…”  
           “Fix it!?” exclaimed Sean in surprise.  
           “Yes. Miss Crowley is an auror now. She is part of an elite group who, because of the unbreakable vow, all share a unique set of challenges and difficulties. It’s not easy living with an unbreakable vow,” Dean admitted. “Therefor we aurors must stay together; we need to help and support each other whenever possible. Whether she realizes it or not, Miss Crowley has been sorted into a new House—that of the Auror and we take care of our _own!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a wonderful mole cricket by Burke5 on Designs & Interfaces/Tattoo designs that provided the inspiration for Holly's Tattoo... I'm told there is a way to include artwork in the fan fiction but I haven't yet figured out how...


	30. Chapter 30

           “Are you ready?” asked Mark.  
           Holly Wycliff closed her eyes. “Yes,” she answered as she absently stroked Sasha. Sasha was nestled in Holly’s lap kneading Holly’s leg contentedly. There was a moment of silence and then the most horrible pain exploded in her mouth. On and on it went seemingly forever. Then the pain abruptly stopped. In actuality, the pain ended exactly 2 minutes later. “That one was easy,” she told Mark. “Toothache!”  
           “Right!” agreed Mark.  
           “Ready for the next one?” asked Becky.  
           Holly kept her eyes closed. “Yes,” she answered while she gently rubbed Sasha’s ears. Even without looking Holly knew Becky was selecting a potion from the box, opening it and taking a tiny spoonful. After a moment Holly felt dizzy. There was a burning sensation in her chest; her breath got short and she felt the urge to vomit… Abruptly, everything stopped. “Uh, stroke?” she questioned uncertainly.  
           “Nope! Heart attack!” answered Becky. “Strokes don’t have that chest pain…”  
           The three were in the Forbidden Woods testing Holly on symptoms. Madam Pomfrey had presented Holly with a box of Weasley Sample Symptoms and told Holly that Healer Winonan wanted Holly to learn to recognize common ailments within others. He promised to come with all the Ministry people at the end of the year to test Holly on those symptoms during the O.W.L. examination period.  
           “But what if I don’t want to be a Healer?” protested Holly while she looked at the wine coloured box with the gold “W” on the top.  
           “You still need to learn how to recognize basic symptoms,” insisted Madam Pomfrey. “What if you came across someone in need during the course of whatever you decide you wish to do with your life? You’d never forgive yourself if that person died because you didn’t recognize what you were feeling…”  
           “Yes, ma’am,” said Holly reluctantly while taking the box. So Holly spent what was left of her free time studying Muggle symptoms and ailments, which, she was assured, mirrored wizard ones but with less intensity...  
           “Next!” announced Mark as Sasha reached up and lazily batted Holly’s lone beaded braid with her paw making it swing back and forth.  
The Weasley Symptom box had come with a huge book describing common Muggle ailments that Holly had to memorize before opening the actual symptom potions. Then, Holly had to taste each potion for herself comparing symptoms to descriptions. She could take no more than four a day or the symptoms would merge. The final step was to recognize those same symptoms in someone else. Each dose recreated the specified symptom for exactly two minutes—any more could adversely affect the recipient.  
           A throbbing sensation started in Holly’s head. Was it a simple headache? A migraine? Or a brain tumor? The differences were important... Then Holly felt something else. Her eyes flew open. “Hide!” she hissed. Holly hastily grabbed the Becky’s wrist, stood sending Sasha sliding to the ground, and started pulling Becky behind the nearest bush. Mark grabbed the Weasley box and joined them crouching down behind a fallen log. Becky pulled out the disillusionment charms she carried in her pocket. She handed one to Holly who promptly broke it over Becky’s head and then Becky broke one over Mark and Holly’s. The cold liquid dripped down Holly’s neck and back while the sounds of breaking branches could be heard getting nearer and nearer. Holly held her breath as three figures in green robes came into view. Then came a forth and a few seconds later, two more!  
           _“Drat!”_ thought Holly in frustration. _“I only thought there were only four! I’ve got to remember there are people out there practicing Occlumency too!!!”_ She was glad she had told Becky and Mark to hide. While they could have probably held their own against four if necessary, six Slytherins would a bit much. The last one paused briefly in the clearing where Holly and her friends had been and then the six continued on their way moving quickly without stopping or talking. Soon they were out of view and then the sounds of branches snapping and leaves crunching died away.  
           “I think they’re gone,” announced Holly when everything was quiet while hoping that the two without emotions had kept pace with the others. The three cautiously stood up.  
           There should have been no need to hide; there was nothing wrong with Holly and her friends being in the Forbidden Woods. In fact, they actually had permission to be there, needing a place where Holly could focus on the symptoms free from outside emotions. But hiding was an effective way of avoiding conflict with the Slytherins. It was not a way Albus or Conner would have utilized which was one reason why Holly had not asked them along. Conner and Albus would have confronted the thugs directly; everyone would have ended up in the infirmary and probably lost house points for fighting.  
           Slytherin nastiness was widespread and had intensified the second term; the Gryffindors had lost numerous house points standing up to and combating the Slytherins. Groups of two or three travelling together were no longer safe from Slytherin harassment and bullying. Most of it went unchecked by the Hogwarts administration and staff—not for lack of trying, but unless the infraction was personally witnessed by a professor, (and the Slytherins were too careful to let that happen) an accused Slytherin always denied having done whatever he/she had been accused of doing and had two or three other Slytherin friends to provide an alibi. Those who complained found themselves the victim of even more harassment for having spoken up…  
           The Hufflepuffs were trying to keep out of the Slytherins’ way as much as possible. Carrie Breysburry and the other artistic Hufflepuffs were doing a brisk business with the Ravenclaws trading pet portraits for disillusionment charms and sharing them with Hufflepuffs in need so they could escape Slytherin notice and harassment. Most went to the first years; they’d had a rough year. Holly had also received considerable Slytherin attention. The Slytherins openly accused her of fixing scores to stay in Hogwarts and asserted that were not Headmistress McGonagall and most of the staff friends with Harry Potter, Holly’d have been thrown out ages ago…  
           Of course, Albus could hold his temper when he had to—he’d had plenty of practice a few years ago. The real reason Albus and Conner weren’t helping Holly was because they had volunteered to patrol the quidditch match between the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws. Slytherin violence had spilled out into the Quidditch games as well. Holly missed the first match but she’d heard all about it. The Slytherins had somehow managed to put most of the Hufflepuff team into the infirmary before the match had even begun. Those who played in their place had been woefully unprepared and the game had ended in less than fifteen minutes.  
           Holly had seen the match between Ravenclaw against the Gryffindors. Players were forbidden to use their wands during the game but that didn’t stop those watching from the stadium from using their wands. The Slytherins had cast all sorts of spells in the stadium in advance and then sat back to watch the entertainment. Fires broke out everywhere; gray clouds of icy rain appeared to put out the fires, which also “accidently” drenched the watchers. Seats unexpectedly rose or vanished altogether. Other seats came to life and sprouted into trees and bushes with hapless students trapped within the branches. While the audience was diverted by seat problems, the Slytherins cast their wands into the pitch breaking brooms, ripping clothing and protective gear and knocking players onto the grass causing all sorts of general chaos. Madam Hootch was furious but nothing could be pinned for certain on the Slytherins. They, of course, claimed innocence of everything and pointed the few seats in their section that rose up and down too… The Gryffindors were determined to make sure the chaos of the previous game was not repeated.  
           The game had been difficult for Holly emotionally. She had no desire to repeat the experience. Even if the Gryffindors could keep the spell casting to a minimum Holly was certain the emotions would be too high for comfort let alone enjoyment.  
           “That was close!” said Mark stepping back into the clearing. “I mean I know it shouldn’t have been with that disillusionment charm but if they had looked our way just once I was certain they’d see us…”  
           “Yeah,” agreed Becky. She stepped forward and bent down and picked up a potions bottle laying partially buried by the leaves. “I was afraid Warrington would spot the bottle I’d left behind… I guess she didn’t notice it,” Becky added turning to Holly for confirmation. The disillusionment charm still on her made Becky’s form blend in with the surroundings; Holly could see the space she occupied when she moved but not otherwise.  
           “I guess not,” agreed Holly but she didn’t know for sure. Both sixth year Alanna Warrington and her friend Marella Avery, the last two Slytherins who had walked into the clearing, practiced perfect Occlumency.  
           “What do you suppose they were doing in the woods?” asked Mark. “You’d have thought they were watching the game with everyone else…”  
           “That’s a good question,” answered Holly suddenly realizing she had sensed a lot of _pleasure_ and _satisfaction_ from the four Slytherin emotions she _could_ feel. They had definitely been up to no good.  
           “They came from that way,” commented Becky. “I think we should check it out…” Mark nodded his head in agreement. So the three started walking deeper into the woods trying to back-track the Slytherins.  
           After about five minutes walking Becky stopped. “I smell smoke!” she said. Once she mentioned it, Holly smelled smoke too! The three hurried on following the scent of the smoke to its source: a pile of burning leaves and brush placed at the base of a dead tree!  
           “Look!” whispered Mark in horror. And he pointed to the two other burning piles each placed under trees one of the trees was already smoking catching fire before their eyes!  
           Holly and Becky rushed forward. Holly tried to stamp out one of the fires.  
           _“Aquamenti!”_ shouted Mark. Water splashed down on Holly and the fire dousing the flames of the fire in the trees causing thick streams of smoke to roll upwards.  
           _“Wands! Yes! Right!”_ thought Holly as she drew out her own wand. Sometimes she felt so dense! _“Reducto!”_ she shouted as she aimed her wand at the fire beneath her. The burning embers immediately shrank and scattered.  
           Another splash of water fell onto the fire that was beneath the once burning tree. The flames sizzled and vanished; more smoke curled up from the site.  
           _“Reducto!”_ shouted Becky. More embers scattered about.  
           Suddenly strong arms wrapped around Holly’s body! She screamed dropping her wand as she felt herself lifted off the ground and thrown through the air! She landed against a tree trunk and slid down into soggy embers. Nearby were very frightened emotions of Mark and Becky who felt as if they had received similar treatment. Stunned, Holly looked around and saw Mark and Becky lying amid a flurry of legs and hooves that seemed to be stomping on the charcoal and flames. The legs grew still and Holly looked up from dirty hooves, blackened with charcoal, sturdy legs and solid bodies surrounding her into the faces of some very angry centaurs! Several of them carried bows with arrows pointed firmly at her!  
           “I told Hagrid that if we found those destroying our forest they would not be returned to the school,” said a chestnut bodied centaur with open hatred.  
           “We should kill them now!” spoke an angry black centaur with long black hair. “Let them burn in the fires they created!”  
           “No!” exclaimed Becky, horrified.  
           “We didn’t do this!” protested Mark, his glasses askew.  
           “We were trying to put the fire out!” added Holly, “not start it!”  
           “With magic spells to disguise your presence?” questioned a hard faced gray centaur. “I think not! Throw them in the waters they fouled where they will drown!” he added coldly.  
           _“Magic spells?”_ questioned Holly. “No!” she exclaimed suddenly realizing they meant the disillusionment charm that had covered them. “We were hiding from someone else!”  
           “Lies!” spat the black centaur. The other centaurs began to snort and stomp their forelegs angrily.  
           “H-honest!” chimed Becky. “We saw the s-smoke and came to put out the fire!”  
           “Then who set it?” demanded the black centaur while stamping his legs furiously.  
           “Uh.”  
           “We didn’t see anyone set it,” put in Holly swiftly. “We just saw some other students in the woods and decided to investigate.”  
           “Who?” persisted a dun coloured centaur.  
           “It doesn’t matter who,” replied Holly decisively. “What we saw isn’t proof of anything! When we saw the fire, we tried to put it out. That’s all.” Holly had no problem telling the Headmistress what they had seen, but she wouldn’t let that information be used as a basis for presumed guilt and immediate punishment.  
           “First she claims “innocence” and now she protects the guilty—I say that makes her just as guilty!” responded another gray centaur with a heavy beard, who stood behind Becky. “Why else would she protect them if she didn’t share in the guilt?” He reached down, placed a strong hand under Becky’s armpit. Becky’s eyes were wide and she oozed terror as the centaur hauled her up off the ground. “We must take our woods back and protect our own!”  
           “No!” came a new voice, a female voice. A young palomino centaur walked into their midst. Celestae! It had been two years since Holly had last seen her; Celestae was older and had changed some, but there was no mistaking her wide deep blue eyes and long flowing white blonde hair. “We do not attack foals especially the wrong ones,” said Celestae in her soft silvery voice. “These have been in the woods before and done it no damage. I do not believe they started this fire.”  
           “But they hide the ones who did!” spoke the black Centaur angrily. “We have ignored such behavior long enough. Youth is no longer an excuse!”  
           “An eye for an eye,” Celestae said simply. “They saved my life,” she added. “I would save theirs…”  
           The bearded centaur dropped Becky abruptly. “Explain!”  
           Becky used the opportunity to scurry out of his reach stopping breathlessly next to Mark, who was closer to her than Holly.  
           “I had been captured by a spider trap,” she said simply. “They helped me escape.”  
           “What were they doing in the woods far from where they belong?” questioned the gray Centaur suspiciously.  
           “I was in the woods where I did not belong,” corrected Celestae. “I was visiting Uncle Firenze.”  
           The centaurs all drew in a breath at that. “That is forbidden,” said the black centaur stamping his foot angrily.  
           “I know,” replied Celestae. “But he is one of ours and family. Uncle Firenze says that one,” Celestae nodded towards Holly, “is cousin of Harry Potter.” Another breath drawn in by the centaurs. Obviously, the name Harry Potter was known to them.  
           “I am _not_ Harry Potter!” fumed Holly forgetting her fear while standing up. Sometimes it was so annoying to be connected to the famous Harry Potter! “And I won’t give up names! But if there is some other way we can help…” she offered.  
           “You said something about fouled water?” suggested Mark standing up as well pulling a quivering Becky up with him.  
           “Yes,” answered Celestae.  
           “NO!” shouted several of the centaurs while stamping their hooves angrily. “We do not turn to wizards to deal with our matters!”  
           “We don’t,” agreed Celestae. “We concern ourselves only with the stars. And that is as it should be. This is a matter of earth and water; it is better _they_ spend their time on it than us. They can ask questions in places where we cannot…”  
           “Uh, how long has the water been, uh, bad?” questioned Mark as if the other centaurs had agreed to letting them help.  
           “Since Pegasus flew the skies,” answered Celestae. “And our food supplies have been ruined!” she added.  
           “You speak too much!” protested the black centaur.  
           “We cannot observe the stars properly when our bellies are empty and our throats are dry,” replied Celestae. “These things must stop,” she added to Holly. “I long to enjoy the peace of the stars again.”  
           “We’ll do what we can,” promised Holly.  “A sample!” she exclaimed suddenly. Holly went over to the Weasley Potion symptom sample box that had fallen in the scuffle. Hastily she selected a bottle—Toothache-she didn’t need that one, and emptied the contents. “Could you get me a sample of the water?” she asked. “I know someone who could maybe figure out what’s wrong. She’s very good…”  
           Thirty minutes later, Holly, Becky and Mark were escorted to the edge of the woods by several still angry, suspicious centaurs. The centaurs happily retreated back into the woods as soon as the three stepped onto the Hogwarts grounds. At least the centaurs had let them retrieve their wands and in Holly’s hand was a potions bottle filled with water from their spring. It looked like regular water but Celestae assured the three that those who drank from the spring got ill... Holly had used a self-inking quill and wrote the few symptoms on her arm (no parchment available) that Celestae related to them (and more symptoms she _felt_ that Celestae hadn’t related) so she could send the list to Paige with the water. Holly resolved to get a second bottle filled with water from the lake. It occurred to her that the Slytherins may have done something to that water as well. Cousin Harry had once mentioned there were mer-people in the water. Were they O.K.?  
           It felt good to leave the company of the centaurs and get back to familiar grounds again but something didn’t feel right. What was it? Holly stopped. “Sasha!” she suddenly exclaimed. “Where’s Sasha?”  
           Becky and Mark stopped. “She was with us when we were testing symptoms,” said Becky thoughtfully. “Was she there at the fire?”  
           Holly shook her head. “I don’t remember!” she told the others. “I was so busy trying to put out the fire, and then the centaurs came…” Holly looked back at the woods. “I don’t think so, at least I don’t remember her being with us…”  
           “Perhaps she fled when she smelled the smoke or when the centaurs came,” suggested Mark. “She knows the way back to Hogwarts…” he added reassuringly.  
           “But she’d never abandon me like that,” insisted Holly worriedly. “Not even when I jumped out of the train! Something’s happened!”  
           “Let’s check the dorm before you get all upset,” insisted Becky practically. “Sasha might have just gotten hungry.”  
           “She’s not there, I know it!” stated Holly but she let Becky and Mark lead her back to the castle, just in case.  
           Sasha wasn’t there; no one had seen her all day. They didn’t expect to see her; Holly had taken her with them…  
           Holly insisted on returning to the woods to look. Perhaps Sasha had been injured by the burning embers or by centaur hooves… By following hoof-prints and tracks, they made it all the way back to the site of the fire to look but found nothing. Weary and hungry, an extremely upset Holly finally let Becky and Mark persuade her to return to the castle—get some food and rest. They promised to look with her again in the morning when there was more light.  
           Scarcely had the three walked back into the castle when Marella Avery stepped in front of them. Holly started in surprise at her unexpected presence. Drat that Occlumency!  
           “Looking for something?” Avery questioned confidently. Her hard green eyes stared pointedly at Holly.  
           “My cat!” Holly exclaimed with sudden understanding. “What have you done with her?”  
           “I’ve done nothing with your cat!” denied Avery. Slender with wavy red-brown hair, Avery was quite attractive as long as she didn’t speak; her words were anything but nice. “But if you know what’s good for her,” Avery continued coldly, “you’ll keep quiet about what you saw in the woods today…” She turned with a flourish causing her green robes to swirl and headed off towards the dungeons.  
           “Wait!” cried out Holly starting after her.  
           “No!” said Mark grabbing hold of Holly’s arm and holding her back. “Sasha’s O.K. Avery said as much. We’re tired and hungry. We’ve got to eat first. Then we can discuss getting her back…

**********

          The excited talk at the dinner table about how the Gryffindors had blocked several stunning spells shot into the pitch making it possible for the Ravenclaw Seeker Daren Azi to catch the Snitch and win the quidditch match died out as soon as Mark Owens and Becky told the other Hufflepuffs about Sasha. (They did it over Holly’s objection—“Don’t you get it?” Mark retorted sharply. “We’re Hufflepuffs! We _share_ our problems!”)  
           The Hufflepuffs were appalled and horrified at what the Slytherins had done, but not surprised. The Slytherins had been getting steadily worse through the year. Kidnapping and blackmail was just one more step from what they had already done.  
Then the conversation turned to what to do about it!  
           “Get her back, of course!” exclaimed Susan as she protectively put her tarantula back into its box.  
           “But how?” questioned third year Cicily Roche. “We’ve got to find her first.”  
           “They’ve probably got her in their dorms,” speculated Donald Wrezenski.  
           “Or not,” said Hugh Douglass (4th year.) “There’s all sorts of hiding places at Hogwarts.”  
           “Maybe they have her in the Room of Requirement!” suggested Becky hopefully.  
           “Which means we could never get her out,” replied Holly slumping in her seat glumly.  
           “That’s if they actually have her,” speculated prefect Donna MacMillan.  
           “She’s right,” put in prefect Eddie Shunpike. “Holly didn’t actually have Sasha in her hands and anyone could have seen you out there searching…”  
           Mark could tell Holly didn’t buy that. Abruptly Holly got up and marched over to the Slytherin table. He scrambled out of his seat to follow. Behind him came the rest of the Hufflepuffs. There was strength in numbers. Holly stopped in front of Avery. Avery looked up expectantly at Holly.  
           “I won’t tell anyone about what we saw in the woods, I promise! Just give me my cat back!”  
           Avery’s eyes narrowed. “An unbreakable vow?” she questioned thoughtfully.  
           “Too late for that,” Mark announced before Holly could answer. He positioned himself next to Holly. Unbreakable vows were serious and shouldn’t even be discussed so casually. Holly should know that but Mark knew she was desperate to get Sasha. “Holly’s already told all of us,” Mark continued. Becky appeared supportively on the Holly’s other side. The other Hufflepuffs arranged themselves around Holly closely crowding in so they could see and hear. “Course, we haven’t told the Headmistress or the staff yet,” Mark told Avery, “but we will, if you don’t return Holly’s cat.”  
           “What cat?” questioned Warrington innocently. As usual, she sat next to Avery. Alanna Warrington had blue eyes, pale skin and light brown hair. She always wore the latest fashions under her school robes. Not that she needed to. Warrington could look good wearing jeans and a t-shirt.  
           “That’s the problem,” answered Mark. “Some of us aren’t convinced you even have Holly’s cat and think you are just messing with Holly’s mind. We’re inclined to talk to the Headmistress anyway so unless you provide proof you have Holly’s cat before tomorrow noon, that’s what we’re going to do.”  
           “No!” objected Holly.  
           “You can’t stop all of us!” Mark assured. “Come on, Holly,” Mark added taking hold of Holly’s arm. We’ve homework to do…” He dragged Holly away from the Slytherin table.  
           “You do that and it’ll die for sure!” threatened Richards from further down the table.  
           “Not my cat!” replied Mark in what he hoped was an unconcerned sounding voice. He knew how much Sasha meant to Holly.  
           “And if you don’t have her,” added Becky in a trembly voice, “you shouldn’t have made the threats!”  
           The rest of the Hufflepuffs folded around Holly and, as a group, walked out of the Hall. “We’d best make sure all our pets are in our dorm or where the Slytherins can’t get at them,” said prefect Donna in a low voice once they reached the entryway. “The owlry has security,” she added, “but I’d rather be safe than not. Anyone with owls that can be sent home, should go do that now,” she instructed. Some of the Hufflepuffs peeled off and headed outside. “Perhaps we can get some anti-Slytherin wards from the Ravenclaws to beef things up and protect the rest...” she added thoughtfully.  
           “I’ll ask Moore about that when I warn her,” volunteered prefect Eddie. “You want to pass the word on to the Finnegan?” Donna nodded.  
           “What?” exclaimed Holly stopping in her steps! The group pushed her forward. “You can’t tell anyone else! They’ve got Sasha!”  
           “They’re prefects,” replied Eddie. “We _have_ to tell them; they’ve got to be warned. If we don’t, Sasha won’t be the only pet they kidnap and threaten!”  
           “We won’t tell them all the details, of course, and will swear them to secrecy,” assured Donna, “but they’ve got to be warned!”

**********

          “Hold her down will you!” said Alanna Warrington with frustration. “We don’t have much time!” She was acting as a lookout making sure no one was watching or interrupted them. They had already taken the photo and now it was a matter of hiding her…  
           “I’m trying!” protested Scorpius, “but she’s got claws!  
           “Still think a bag would’ve work better,” insisted Anthony as he grabbed the back legs and held tight.  
           “We’re not trying to transfigure a bag!” reminded Marella. She laid her wand on the hissing, spitting, struggling head. She tapped the head once, twice, _“Fera Verto!”_ she said with determination as she tapped the head a third time. A silvery mist came out of the end of the wand. The struggling stopped; both boys let go as a pewter gray goblet rose up with a white stem and gray/white base.  
           “Nice job,” said Alanna approvingly. Marella hadn’t done nearly as well during class. Of course, that was three years ago…  
           “See!” said Anthony triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you? All the spells work better now!”  
           “And we won’t have to feed it or worry about it trying to escape either!” added Scorpius cheerfully as he picked up the goblet. “Where shall we put it?”  
           “I’ll take it,” volunteered Alanna. She held her open hand out expectantly. “And I’ll give it to one of the other students to hide without telling why. That way you won’t know anything. None of us will!”  
           “I wouldn’t tell her anything!” scoffed Scorpius while handing Alanna the goblet.  
           “That won’t stop her from trying!” retorted Alanna as she pulled out a bag and carefully put the goblet in it. After all, it _was_ alive… “I’ve read Empaths can detect lies! This way she can ask whatever she wants of anyone and won’t learn anything!”  
           “And nobody will find anything no matter how hard they look,” concluded Marella with satisfaction. “They’ll all be looking for cats not goblets!”

**********

          A lone barn owl flew into the hall just before noon. It dropped an envelope in front of Holly and flew off. Holly snatched the envelope before it had even landed on the table and hastily ripped it open. A single wizard photo slid out showing an angry spitting cat in a cage. The background was a solid black and a current issue of the Daily Prophet was propped against the cage. “She’s alive!” Holly Wycliff breathed with relief.  
           She had been so consumed with worry the previous night she could scarce think let alone sleep. While Holly paced, Mark had gone to the lake and gotten a water sample. He and Becky insisted Holly sit down and take a few minutes to write the note to Paige and send off the water samples while they could—before the Slytherins thought to prevent her from doing so.  
           Prefect Donna took the empty envelope and turned it over. “Look,” she said aloud. There was a note scrawled on the back of the envelope. “Dueling club, 8:00pm. Come alone!” She showed it to Eddie before passing the note to Holly.  
           “What do you suppose they want?” questioned Eddie.  
           “I guess I’ll find out,” replied Holly as she handed the paper to Becky next to her. Holly could only hope it had to do with Sasha.  
           _“We_ shall find out,” replied Donna firmly. “You are not facing any Slytherins alone, Holly! It isn’t safe.”  
           “But, the note says…”  
           “We are _one,”_ reminded Donna. “They’ll just have to deal with it.”  
           “Besides, they already know we know,” added Eddie. “They’d probably be surprised if we didn’t show…”

**********

          _“First, it was goblins and now she wants me to investigate_ centaur _water? Seriously?”_ Paige Crowley rolled her eyes in disbelief as she refolded the letter from Miss Wycliff. _“I’m no Veterinarian!”_ she continued in thought. _“Just because my potions helped heal Wycliff’s cat last year is no reason to think I could or would wish to help a centaur! And there’s no mention of payment!”_ she added to herself righteously. _“Does Wycliff expect me to work for free? Last year I couldn’t legally charge for my services but now I’m a Potions Apprentice. I can charge proper fees and I don’t do_ charity _cases!”_  
           _“On the other hand,”_ Paige mused thoughtfully, _“the request is a good excuse to learn how my potions interact with inferiors and Wycliff is still popular within the wizard community; it wouldn’t do to offend her… I could always send the bill to Potter,”_ Paige thought suddenly. _“He_ is _her legal guardian after all and responsible for the bills Wycliff incurs. Potter would do just about anything for Wycliff and, knowing Potter, he probably sees nothing wrong with helping inferiors!”_ Paige put the letter on the top shelf of her bookcase and placed the two potion bottles on top of the letter. _“When I have time,”_ she told herself and returned to the dark round table in the middle of the room and sat in one of the two matching chairs. On the table was a small journal opened to a partially filled page with a green quill lying besides it. Paige sat down, picked up the quill and added to what was already there.

 


	31. Chapter 31

           The Hogwarts Dueling Club room was located on the ground floor behind a tiny door under the stairs next to the Great Hall. According to Professor Lovegood, the room was installed after the expelliarmus spell became a first year requirement. Holly had gone there occasionally to watch friends duel but had never actually dueled in there herself. She knew that in the past, the room was often used to settle disputes between Gryffindors and Slytherins but that hadn’t happened recently. The outcome of a duel no longer settled anything. A “loss” made the Slytherins more vindictive and a “win” made them insufferable!  
           Holly Wycliff cautiously opened the door. She drew a deep breath before stepping into the dueling room. Mark and Becky followed close behind. Prefects Donna and Eddie entered as well.  
           The dueling room had a long golden stage along one wall lit by hundreds of candles and chairs set up for an audience. Holly counted thirteen Slytherins seated comfortably in the chairs. They looked up at Holly’s arrival. She knew them all by sight. Seven were upper class Slytherins, Prefects Isolde O’Shea and Owain Gruffudd, Alanna Warrington, Marella Avery, Dwayne Vaisey, Luthais Higgs, and Glenna MacAra. Holly also recognized Martina Goyle, Shirley Ogg, Scorpius Malfoy, Anthony Richards, Rebecca Corwin and Nicholas Adderson. More chairs appeared as Holly and her friends walked in, enough for everyone currently in the room.  
           “What are they doing here?” Warrington asked bluntly.  
           “Where’s my cat?” retorted Holly equally blunt.  
           “What cat?” stated Warrington innocently. “We are here to duel. Aren’t we?” she questioned turning to her classmates. They nodded their heads in agreement even though there was no one on the dueling stage. “Isn’t that why you are here?”  
           “I’m not supposed to duel,” stated Holly automatically. Being able to sense emotions gave her an unfair advantage in any duel.  
           “That’s a shame,” said Warrington with false sincerity. “Especially as that is one of the subjects covered in the O.W.L.S. this year…” She rose from her seat and walked towards Holly as she spoke. “However, I think we can help you out here. McGonagall has constantly harped on how we should take an interest in our fellow students and their progress at Hogwarts so several of us have volunteered to help you with your dueling skills. Duels here are totally voluntarily and we are willing to duel you despite your ah, handicap, just to do our bit… Well?” she demanded.  
           Holly stared at Warrington not knowing what to say. It had to be a trap of some sort, a trick or something with all those Slytherins around. Warrington moved up closer.  
           “Holly doesn’t need your help,” stated Mark boldly. “She practices with us,” he added firmly. The Hufflepuffs move up to stand supportively on either side of Holly as if to confirm his statement. In truth, Holly had only seriously dueled against one Hufflepuff, Roland DeWitt, and he had left Hogwarts two years earlier.  
           “That’s doubtful,” stated Warrington. “Everyone knows Wycliff hasn’t dueled since first year.”  
           That wasn’t exactly true either. Yes, Holly sat out of all the Defense Against the Dark Arts in-class dueling practices and activities. But once a week she had to return to class for make-up tutorials. At that time Holly regularly dueled against the auror students (of which Roland had been one.) The Hufflepuffs knew Holly dueled against the auror students but none of the specifics, not even who the auror students were. That was something Holly didn’t discuss.  
           “You should welcome the chance to improve your skills with those of us who actually _know_ how to duel,” Warrington continued readdressing her proposal to Holly while insinuating the Hufflepuffs couldn’t duel. Warrington moved up even closer to Holly, facing her almost nose to nose.  
Holly met her gaze squarely looking for anything in her expression that would tell her more about Sasha. She saw nothing but uncompromising coldness.  
           Warrington leaned over so her lips were near Holly’s ear. “Think of it as _boarding_ fees,” she whispered suggestively in Holly and then sauntered back to her friends.  
           Holly shivered not wanting to think what would happen to Sasha if she didn’t “pay…” “I, ah, guess I should try…” she said hesitantly.  
           “You can’t!” whispered Becky. “It’s a trick of some sort!”  
           Holly nodded. It was. Or at least it was an attempt to level the odds. Some of the Slytherins present practiced total or varying degrees of Occlumency… “But I must,” she replied softly. “For Sasha…”  
           Holly apprehensively walked up onto the stage and headed to one side. Sure, she had dueled before, but never in front of an audience. And never in front of one so hostile. Despite the Occlumency, the Slytherin disdain and arrogance came through strongly. The warm support of the Hufflepuffs helped, but, like Holly, they were worried and their mixed emotions could not offset the negative Slytherin ones.  
           _Two_ Slytherins got up and sauntered to the other side. They looked at Holly and smiled. Neither smile was very pleasant. “You don’t mind us trying to even the odd a bit, do you?” asked Warrington as if Holly dared to object.  
           “We do!” spoke up Donna.  
           “It isn’t fair!” protested Becky.  
           “She’s supposed to be an Empath,” said Warrington icily. “She should be able to handle it.”  
           “By your own words, Holly hasn’t dueled in four years,” put in Mark. “If you’re truly “teaching” you should start off one-on-one.”  
           “Our time is limited,” replied Warrington. “And Wycliff doesn’t mind, do you?” she added asking Holly directly. Warrington’s cold eyes bore into Holly daring her to disagree.  
           “Uh, no, no I don’t,” mumbled Holly. She minded a lot but didn’t dare oppose Warrington.  
           “Of course not,” replied Warrington with satisfaction. “And as I know you haven’t been formally introduced, this is Mr. Higgs.” The tall thin Slytherin with blond hair, over-sized teeth and a pageboy haircut nodded at Holly. “And Mr. Vaisey.” The other Slytherin, not as tall, stocky, black hair, black eyes and pasty white skin, lifted his wand in acknowledgement.  
           Holly had not needed the introduction. She had seen both Slytherins around and knew them by name and reputation. Seventh year Lutais Higgs had always been a nasty sort. This year he seemed particularly so. Holly spotted Higgs slipping frozen nifflers in student back-packs during breakfast. He didn’t know she’d been watching because he was still under the effects of the _Prophet_ memory spell at the time.  
           Holly’s observation solved a mystery that had plagued the Hufflepuffs since September. Frequently nifflers had been discovered within their bags. They tore up homework, books and any other bag contents before eating their way out causing havoc in the classrooms to the delight of the Slytherins present. Unfortunately, the student from whose bag the niffler had emerged got blamed. So their presence had cost a lot of house point from angry professors. The nifflers usually got out during first and second period so the Hufflepuffs had been futilely watching their bags and Slytherin classmates for tampering during that time. No one had realized the nifflers were frozen first and _thawing_ by first and second period classes. Once warned, the Hufflepuffs left their bags at the dorm until class…  
           Higgs had tried the niffler trick again after the Holidays while using a disillusionment charm but by then, all the students had gotten Weasley anti-burglar bags. George Weasley had gotten old copies of the Monster Book of Monsters and transferred the aggressive cover onto student book bags… One bloodied hand was enough to stop Higgs from trying to drop nifflers in the bags. But he was no doubt cause of the Tasmanian Sand Fleas later set loose on the anti-burglar bags that caused the bags to constantly chomp and twitch irritably.  
           The Hufflepuffs had told Holly that Dwayne Vaisey had “accidentally” hit Madam Hooch with a bludger during their quidditch match against the Hufflepuffs during the Fall and then sent another bludger towards Headmistress McGonagall missing her by inches. His apologies had sounded very sincere but none of the Hufflepuffs believed either shot had been an accident.  
           Holly frequently spotted Vaisey and his girl Olivia O’Shea “patrolling” outside the Great Hall after meals. O’Shea was a prefect and could patrol where she wished. Given the number of accidents experienced by the students outside the Great Hall, Holly was suspicious of the two. She stood next to them while they were still under the influence of the Prophet memory spell. Holly saw O’Shea point her wand towards a group of students emerging from the Great Hall, cast a _Tarantallegra_ spell, and an unsuspecting student would fall, legs sprawling every which way causing the rest of the group to trip and fall as well… Then Higgs would quickly point his wand in the same direction, remove the spell, and the two would delightedly watch the chaos they had just caused. Once the memory spell wore off, Holly became a frequent victim the double spells. Of course, Vaisey and O’Shea always denied having cast any spells and it was Holly’s word against theirs…  
           “In case you’ve forgotten,” began Warrington with exaggerated patience as if speaking to a small child, “You must salute your opponent and bow before beginning. I’ll count to three and then you may begin.” Both Slytherins promptly lifted their wands in mock salute and gave an elaborate bow… They looked at Holly expectantly.  
           Holly slowly raised her own wand in a salute and bowed. Then she straightened.  
           “One…”  
           “Wait!” Mark suddenly exclaimed interrupting the count off. Everyone paused and looked at Mark. He scrambled up onto the stage. “This won’t take but a minute,” he assured the waiting Slytherins as he ran over to Holly. “Don’t hold your wand like that,” he told Holly loudly, “Make it look good,” Mark whispered while moving Holly’s wand arm to a different position, “but _lose!”_ In a louder voice Mark instructed, “Hold your wand this way,” as he twisted Holly’s wrist slightly to the left. “Trust me on this!” he added as he returned to his chair.  
           _“Trust me on this?”_ questioned Holly mentally—was that for the arm position or loosing? Or both? Why lose? Holly looked over at Mark and he nodded his head encouragingly. Becky and the other Hufflepuffs did too. The aurors always expected Holly to do her best at all times. Loosing was easy enough, but making it “look good” at the same time was another matter. How was she supposed to do that? How good?  
           Holly had no idea how well either of them dueled but there were two of them, both 7th years and probably had lots of practice. Vaisey had whispery emotions that Holly could easily feel but she could feel nothing of Higgs’ emotions. On the other hand, the Slytherins assumed Holly hadn’t dueled since 1st year and no one present knew anything about Holly’s dueling abilities having never seen her in action. Holly thought back on her first time dueling with the aurors and wondered if she could repeat her inept efforts of that day.  
           Mark settled in his seat; Holly took a deep breath and looked at Warrington.  
           “…Two … three!”  
           _“Expelliarmus!”_  
           Holly’s spell collided with Vaisey’s; Higgs’ spell hit Holly square on! Her wand slid out of her grasp and she flew into the air landing against the wall. The Slytherins applauded enthusiastically. The sharp scent of eucalyptus filled the air.  
           “That was pathetic!” said Warrington with disgust. She walked over to the far side of the stage.  
           “We told you she couldn’t duel two at once!” said Becky defensively.  
           “She should be able to!” retorted Avery.  
           “All the more reason she should practice,” said Warrington. She bent down and gingerly picked up Holly’s wand with two fingers. “That is one _stinky_ wand!” she told Holly disgustedly. “I can see why you don’t use it much!” she added tossing the wand to Holly.  
           “My wand is just fine!” retorted Holly defensively as she clutched her wand protectively.  
           “You wouldn’t think so if you actually _used_ it more,” replied Warrington acidly. “Come on, time to try again…”  
           Reluctantly Holly got to her feet. She hurt; the wall and floor didn’t mush in as they did in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Practice room and the spell she had been hit with, hurt more than usual… Holly had been hit numerous times with the _Expelliarmus_ spell while dueling the aurors but she never remembered experiencing the sharp biting sting that chilled her to the bone this time. Was that something new or just because of who was casting it? Intent was everything behind a spell. Was what she felt because Slytherins were casting the spell this time? Paige was Slytherin but she was also an auror. Holly knew the aurors had no intent to actually “hurt” so perhaps that’s why the spell felt so different when they cast it. Or were maybe the aurors pulling their punches when dueling with Holly… Or was it something else? Holly didn’t know.  
           “Ready?” asked Warrington.  
           Holly reluctantly nodded.  
           _“Exp—”_  
           _“Expelliarmus!”_ Both Higgs and Vaisey got Holly this time! The pain was indescribable!  
           _“Accio!”_ Holly whispered holding out her hand. Her wand flew back to her trembling fingers as the odor of eucalyptus wafted out. Holly’s hand closed protectively around the wand relieved it hadn’t split in two by the blast.  
           “Well, that’s something,” admitted Warrington grudgingly while she wrinkled her nose. “But it’s not dueling. Up!” she added ruthlessly. “Again!”  
           “You can’t!” protested Eddie.  
           “No,” argued Holly weakly as she got to her knees. “I can do it.” She knew what would happen to Sasha if she didn’t…  
           “Not if that’s the best you can do,” said MacAra critically from her seat in the audience. “It isn’t even much sport to watch!” MacAra bounced out of her chair. “It looks like we shall have to _dumb_ it down a bit,” she said walking up to the stage. “Let me have a go…” she added addressing Higgs and Vaisey. They both nodded and stepped to the side of the stage.  
           Holly rose the rest of the way and faced her new opponent. Glenna MacAra was slim and averaged sized. Her long red-brown hair was braided and hidden under a lime green cloche hat. She played goalie on the Quidditch team. Psychologically, one dueler was better than two, but it wasn’t much of a “dumbing” down. MacAra proudly displayed three dueling medals on her chest having won the Ladies Irish, Scottish and British dueling championships during the past two years. On the other hand, MacAra’s Occlumency wasn’t that great. Ordinarily, Holly would have “stood down” on those grounds, but she hadn’t “stood down” for Vaisey and she wouldn’t with MacAra. Of course, it was harder to “lose” when you knew exactly when something would happen.  
           “Ready?” mediated Warrington. Holly nodded and returned her attention to MacAra. “One … two … Three!”  
           _“Protegio!”_ Holly shouted as MacAra’s _Expelliarmus_ spell flew through the air. The two spells collided and more eucalyptus scent filled the air.  
           _“Protegio!”_ criticized MacAra. “That’s a _defensive_ spell! You can’t duel on the defense! Come on!” she taunted stepping forward and holding her arms out encouragingly. You haven’t even scored a hit! You can do it! Look! I’m not even aiming my wand!”  
           Both Higgs and Vaisey raised their wands. Holly saw them do it out of the corner of her eyes. That’s what the aurors had taught her—to be aware of anyone and everyone in the room when fighting. Holly also knew what they would do the moment she lifted her wand against MacAra. But Mark said to “lose” and she had Sasha to think of. But could she just let them do that to her?  
           Holly raised her wand and aimed it at MacAra. MacAra’s whole body tensed and Holly could feel her next spell building up inside her... _“Ex—Protegio!”_ Holly squealed suddenly and dropped to the ground. She gripped her wand tightly trusting the shield her spell had created. _Three Expelliarmus_ spells struck the shield sending a cloud of eucalyptus fumes into the room. Everyone on stage began to cough.  
           “You should dump that piece of junk!” declared Avery from her audience seat while fanning the air around her.  
           “Yeah, it’s a _health_ hazard!” complained Higgs between coughs.  
           “It is certainly not a _proper_ wand!” scolded MacAra when her coughing had stopped. “Can’t you _afford_ something better?”  
           “I like my wand just fine,” replied Holly defensively. She pointed it towards one of the walls. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she said. A blast of light along with a fine mist of eucalyptus scent shot forth from the wand causing the wall and nearby chairs to shake. _“Expelliarmus!”_ Holly said again while aiming her wand in a different direction. More light and eucalyptus scent came out of the tip of the wand. “See,” she told the Slytherins. “It works perfectly. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she repeated again. More eucalyptus scent filled the room creating a visible mist that drifted over the audience as well. Hufflepuffs and Slytherins alike began to cough. “It’s just different with I aim at something other than a suit of armour…” Holly added apologetically. _“Expelliarmus!”_ she said once more. The eucalyptus cloud got thicker and denser. The coughing continued.  
           “I’m ready to try again,” she told the coughing Slytherins. Strangely enough, the eucalyptus scent didn’t make her feel like coughing at all.  
           “Wednesday,” decided Warrington aloud between coughs. “Same time. You’ve had enough for today.”  
           _“More likely they had had enough eucalyptus,”_ thought Holly with satisfaction. It was an unexpected but welcome side effect of her wand…  
           “We’ll be doing hexes!” Warrington announced.  
           “Um, I don’t do hexes,” confessed Holly softly. Hexes were too embarrassing to the recipient. Holly hadn’t cast one taught in class since that disastrous affair with Anthony Richards during her first year.  
           Warrington stared at Holly in disbelief. “You don’t _do_ hexes? Seriously? You don’t _do_ hexes? I’m sure your O.W.L.S. examiners will be really impressed when you tell them that. Do all your professors let you _dictate_ the curriculum? Or is it only the _Potter_ friends? Hogwarts is in serious trouble. You had better learn a few hexes by Wednesday or suffer the consequences!” With that she and the other duelers stalked off the stage and then marched out of the room followed by the rest of the Slytherins leaving Holly and her friends in the eucalyptus saturated room.  
           “Why did you tell me to lose?” asked Holly as she put her wand away.  
           “The Slytherins are nasty enough when they win,” replied Mark as he stood up with the rest of the Hufflepuffs. “They’re even nastier when they lose. Who do you think they would take their anger out on?”  
           Holly shivered. “Oh, Sasha!” she moaned. I hope you’re O.K.”

**********

           “Are you ready?” questioned James Potter anxiously.  
           “Yes,” replied Hugo confidently from under the invisible cloak.  
           “Then, let’s do it!” The Potter/Weasley clan walked into the Great Hall for dinner.  
           Everyone had known something was up with Holly and the Slytherins the moment she marched over to the Slytherin table. The Potters hadn’t been able to find out exactly what because the Hufflepuffs had hustled Holly off right afterwards. But the cause was easy to guess when Prefect Alexia Finnegan had called a special house meeting to tell all the Gryffindors to “secure” or otherwise guard their pets… Holly was devoted to Sasha.  
           Of course the Potters wanted to help and they decided that the best way was to find Sasha… The family called Kreacher and asked him to ask the house elves if they had seen Sasha and/or would look for her... Kreacher reported regretfully that none of the house elves had seen the cat but they would look, which was the same answer they had given Winkey, confirming Sasha was indeed missing. Albus and Conner next checked the Room of Requirement—empty. Rose then questioned Kreacher as to exactly where the House elves cleaned checking it against the Maurder’s Map in an attempt to pinpoint places the house elves didn’t frequent or were unlikely to look, places where Sasha might be hidden. The rest of the family, Conner included, had taken shifts and sat outside the Slytherin House while under the invisible cloak in the hopes someone would say something that would give a clue to Sasha’s whereabouts.  
           The Slytherins had said a lot late Sunday night when they had returned reeking of eucalyptus. But the discussion centered on dueling, how one could best destroy an annoying wand and which hexes would be most satisfying... Not a word was mentioned about Sasha.  
           On Monday, James asked his auror classmates (best friend Lawrence Prescott and Ravenclaw prefect Jeremy Corner) for ideas and help. Corner already knew the Slytherins had Sasha; apparently all the Ravenclaws did. Corner had already searched the Owlry for Sasha when he placed the anti-Slytherin ward and assured James the Ravenclaws were all on the look-out for anything unusual. In addition, Corner told James that 2nd year Nadia Turay, who was reading outside the Great Hall under a disillusionment charm, (they were popular with the Ravenclaws who wanted to avoid Slytherin confrontation) had heard Avery threaten Sasha if Holly told anyone which was why they all had to pretend they didn’t know anything about the situation.  
           Despite their best efforts, the family had been unable to locate Sasha. Then one of the Ravenclaws, Hailey Thompson, slipped James a note during Potions. The note was covered with bright red hearts and pink curly-cues and an arrow that kept on piercing the largest heart. Inside was penned, “after class?” More hearts and flowers took the place of a signature. The Slytherins saw the note before James could put it away and sniggered. James felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. Sure, Thompson was nice enough, but not _that_ way…  
           “Uh, you’re nice and all that,” James began hesitantly when Thompson approached him with a warm smile and fluttering eyelashes after class, “and I like you,” he added, “but not th—”  
           “You find Sasha yet?” she asked bluntly in a low voice while snuggling up to James.  
           “Uh, no!” answered James, embarrassment instantly forgotten.  
           “We think we have,” continued Thompson. “Smile!” she suggested. “We have an audience.” Thompson nodded at the Slytherin students who lingered just outside the class.  
           James smiled. Let them think what they liked if it would help Holly. “Where!” he asked urgently.  
           The Slytherins sniggered as Thompson ran a finger suggestively down James’ chest lingering and circling each button on his shirt. “Kelly saw it in Ogg’s bag Monday,” Thompson said. “It’s not the usual thing to see in a bag…”  
           James took hold of Thompson’s lingering finger and brought it to his lips. “What?” he whispered.  
           Thompson smiled and put her lips to James’ ear. “Then Chopra saw Adderson with it during Herbology—scooping dirt,” she whispered.  
           “What?” James asked again in Thompson’s ear.  
           “We saw it again this morning,” Thompson continued ignoring James’ question.  
           _“What!!!?”_  
           Thompson put her arms around James in an embrace. “We can’t get to it but Pilkington thinks you might have something that can…” she added.  
           James returned the embrace. _“What_ are you talking about?” he asked.  
           “Nikita once transfigured an oriole into a goblet for extra credit,” she added. “It came out black with an orange stem…”  
           “Huh?”  
           “There was a goblet on the table at breakfast,” she told James. “A gray goblet with a _white_ stem,” she said pointedly.  
           “That’s, that’s _evil!”_ James said as he contemplated Sasha’s fate right under their very noses.  
           “We think it’ll be there again at lunch, or maybe dinner…” Thompson continued.  
           “We’ve got to tell the Headmistress!” insisted James.  
           “No!” replied Thompson firmly. “You know what they’re doing to Wycliff!” she added. “They’ll say it was voluntarily and she’ll agree! All McGonagall’ll do is lecture the Slytherins and maybe deduct a few house points; they’ll claim ignorance about the goblet and exact revenge on you for telling! They need to be taught a proper lesson!”  
           “What do you have in mind?”

**********

          There _was_ a gray goblet with a white stem sitting prominently on the Slytherins’ table at lunch. The Slytherins were casually tossing sunflower shells in it. No, they (the Potters) couldn’t get at it at lunch but were able to take a look at the situation and make plans for dinner. They were all certain it would be on display again for dinner and it was—tantalizingly out of Holly’s reach, if she even knew about it. James didn’t think she did; Holly’d have taken on the whole Slytherin table to get Sasha back…  
           Lily marched in first with her friend Jordan Vaughn. She was proudly carrying large sealed jar clearly labeled “Extra Credit.” That was a red flag for every Slytherin at the table. They weren’t likely to miss an opportunity to ruin someone else’s hard work, especially that of a “Potter…” Closely following her came Conner and Albus. Conner had his nose in a book, as usual, and Albus peered into it as they walked. Albus walked on the side closest to the Slytherins.  
           Just by himself Albus was another “red flag.” Two years ago, he’d been tripping constantly due to a spell Crowley had cast at Umbridge’s direction and gained the reputation for being clumsy. This year the Slytherins had tripped or tried to trip Albus so many times that Albus routinely wore kneepads to meals… Rose walked right behind Conner and Albus while loudly scolding the two—as usual. This time she chastised them for not taking more interest in their scores like Lily and Jordon… James and Lawrence trailed along behind at a respectable distance like proper upperclassmen—related but not willing to _look_ related to the rest of the group. It was an opportunity too good to miss—or so they (the Potters) hoped. If the Slytherins didn’t “bite,” Conner had his wand ready and would try something more direct.  
           Suddenly Albus went down. (No doubt result of the tag team efforts of Vaisey and O’Shea.) Flailing hands grabbed Conner and Lily in an unsuccessful attempt to keep from falling completely. They were “pulled” off balance taking Jordan with them… A loud crash of tinkling glass followed. “My toads!” wailed Lily. She immediately dove under the Slytherin table with Jordan to fetch the contents of her broken jar. At the word “toads,” the Slytherins quickly stood up/or lifted their feet to give them room! No one wanted near the hairy toads.  
           The hairy toads had been easy enough to collect as it was Spring and they were still dormant. They should have been just as easy to collect a second time, but the Potters had placed the jar of stiff toads in a bucket of fairly hot water for a while to warm them up. The toads all started hopping energetically with their liberation.  
           “Careful, don’t cut yourself!” exclaimed Rose worriedly while looking on. Suddenly she squealed loudly, “I saw one!” (Rose was good at squealing.) “Get it away from me!” She clamored onto the Slytherin bench deliberately pushing Slytherins down in her haste. Conner and Albus, already on the floor obligingly crawled under the table to “help” Lily and Jordan…  
           Inevitably, somebody’s foot came down on a toad. There was a loud popping sound and a cloud of yellow-green gas smelling like rotting fish and cheese wafted up. Everyone scattered to get away from the stench—everyone except the Potters and friends still trying to collect the hopping toads.  
           “How _dare_ you interrupt our meal!” accused Higgs drawing his wand and aiming it at the tangled mass of people on the floor. Lily, Jordon, Conner and Albus all poked their heads out from under the table each cradling toads.  
           That was James’ cue. “Are you threatening my sister?” he asked loudly while drawing out his own wand. “You leave my sister alone!” James threatened. Lawrence drew his own wand as well. They both aimed their wands at Higgs. Immediately the rest of the Slytherins drew their wands and aimed them James and Lawrence.  
           **“What is going on?”** boomed the voice of Headmistress McGonagall. Everyone quickly stowed their wands.  
           “I tripped,” said Albus loudly while getting out from under the table. “Sorry.”  
           “I fell,” added Lily, “and my jar broke!”  
           “We were helping,” put in Conner and Jordon while standing up.  
           A squirming toad in Lily’s arms slipped out landing on the floor again. Conner quickly dove to get it. “Got it!” shouted Conner exuberantly. A loud pop sounded and more yellow-green gas wafted up. “Oops!” he added contritely as everyone backed away from that part of the table.  
           “Five points from Gryffindor,” said the Headmistress sternly. “And get rid of those toads _now!”_  
           “Yes, ma’am!” chorused the Potters dutifully. The loss of 5 points was worth it if their plan worked.  
           The Slytherins stood aside and watched delightedly as the group scrambled on the floor collecting toads. Rose pulled out a bag to put the toads in and closed it securely after each toad to keep them from jumping out. The group got all they could find and finally made it to their table to eat. James looked up from his food and saw MacAra casually grab a gray goblet, dump its contents on the table for the elves to clean up and put the goblet beneath her cloak before leaving the hall.

**********

           “Well, did you get it?” Albus asked Hugo anxiously when they had returned to their dorm.  
           “Yep!” he said proudly and held up a gray goblet with a white stem for all to see. Hugo then set the cup on the coffee table in front of the fireplace  
           The Slytherins would have noticed the absence of the gray goblet instantly. So Thompson had slipped James a _second_ goblet to trade it with—one that was not a cat! James didn’t know if the new goblet was a real or a transfigured goblet but it was the right colour, the same size and had a white stem, the white neatly painted on, if you looked closely. The rest of the Potters provided a diversion enabling Hugo to slip in and make the trade unnoticed. With luck the Slytherins would never realize they had a different goblet.  
           “Think you can undo the spell?” Hugo asked curiously as he pulled out the invisible cloak and handed it to James who promptly tucked it under his shirt. They would have need for it again tonight.  
           “Course!” said Rose proudly. She had received high scores in transfiguration. She pointed her wand at the cup and said _“Finite!”_ Nothing happened. Rose frowned. She waved her wand, pointed it at the goblet and said _“Finite incantatem!”_ Nothing happened. “You sure you traded them” she asked Hugo worriedly.  
           “Course I traded them!” replied Hugo. “See!” he added while pointing to goblet. “The white on the stem is _not_ painted on.” James looked closely along with everyone else. It was definitely _not_ the goblet Thompson had given him.  
           “Untransfiguration is a N.E.W.T. level subject,” Rose said thoughtfully. “Perhaps there is something else to it that isn’t in the books…”  
           James frowned. _He_ was taking the N.E.W.T. level transfigurations and what Rose had done looked and sounded right to him…  
           “Perhaps it isn’t really Sasha…” suggested Lily with a trembling lip.  
           James considered the idea. “No,” he said aloud. “MacAra left with the other goblet. You don’t take a goblet down to dinner or carry it around in your bag unless it is something more than a simple goblet… What do you think?” he added turning to Lawrence. They were both auror students. Surely they could figure this out.  
           “Professor Lovegood said that both she and the Headmistress cast the spell that untransfigured that Megan child...” Lawrence began thoughtfully. “Perhaps this transfiguration takes more than one person to undo…” Immediately six wands crowded in and pointed at the goblet. (Hugo, Lily, Rose, Conner, Albus and Jordon)  
          _“This is probably overkill,”_ thought James hoping there wasn’t a thing such as “too much” reversal, but they were in this together and James wasn’t about to tell anyone to “stand down.” “On the count of three,” he instructed aloud while pointing his own wand at the goblet. He noted Lawrence did so as well. “One, two, _three!”_  
           _“Finite incantatem!”_  
           A fine mist sprayed out of all the wands covering the goblet. It seemed to shutter and swell. Fur grew from all sides and finally a gray kitty lay on the table.  
           “Sasha?” questioned Lily. She reached out and gently touched the fur smoothing it in place. Sasha did not move. For a fleeting moment James worried that they had managed to transfigure a goblet into the cat they all wanted it to be… But that couldn’t be could it?  
           “She looks dead,” stated Jordon bluntly.  
           “She can’t be dead,” Lily moaned while stroking the fur. “She just can’t be!”  
           Lawrence put his wand tip on Sasha’s head and said, _“Rennervate!”_ Sasha’s body shuttered violently and her chest suddenly rose up and down with obvious breathing. “Not dead,” explained Lawrence, “but unconscious. It can’t have been a very pleasant experience being a goblet…”  
           Abruptly, Sasha started moving, her eyes opened a bit, her head rose and swayed unsteadily, her legs jerked as she struggled to rise. “Sasha!” crooned Lily and she slid her hands under the cat picking her up; Sasha immediately hissed and struggled scratching Lily in the process. Lily dropped Sasha. The cat fell onto the floor. Before James could blink, Sasha scrambled to her feet and shot out of the room!  
           “What happened?” said Albus in confusion while looking at Lily’s bleeding hand. “Where’d she go?”  
           “I bet she still thinks she’s with the Slytherins!” speculated Rose. “We’ve got to find her.”  
           “Perhaps its better to leave her alone,” suggested Conner.  
           “Maybe we should open the door and let her out…” put in Jordon. Jordon was not much of a cat person and had a beautiful horned owl for her school pet. “She surely knows the way to the Hufflepuff dorm.”  
           “But would she go there or hunt for Holly?” questioned Albus.  
           “We can’t let her out,” replied James, “not like that—she disoriented and confused; that would make Sasha an easy target for any Slytherin walking the halls and all this will have been for nothing. We need to calm her down first and get her to remember who’s who. Rose, have you any scratch potion left over from when Hagrid had Lulu?” Rose nodded. “Why don’t you get it for Lily. Meanwhile, Lily, you find Sapphire.” Sapphire was Lily’s all-white cat with deep blue eyes. “Perhaps a cat-to-cat conversation will help.” Lily nodded. “Jordon,” continued James, “find some food and water; I bet she’s pretty hungry. Lawrence, guard the door and make sure the Fat Lady doesn’t let Sasha out. The rest of us, spread out and find her…

 


	32. Chapter 32

          The dueling room appeared much larger for Holly’s second visit. That was probably because it looked like _all_ the Slytherin students had shown up to watch. Holly was glad all Hufflepuffs had come to support her. They all selected seats on the side furthest from the Slytherins and sat down.  
           “About time!” scolded Warrington getting up to meet Holly. “We don’t have all night!”  
           “Where’s Sasha?” demanded Holly.  
           “Why would I know,” Warrington denied. “We’re here to practice dueling! Right?” All the seated Slytherins nodded enthusiastically. “Aren’t you? And if you’re not,” continued Warrington as her brown eyes bore into Holly. “Then by all means let us know, we’ll be happy to get our practice some other way…” Holly cringed certain Warrington had just threatened to use Sasha as target practice…  
           “Uh, no, I guess I’m here to duel…” Holly assured Warrington.  
           Warrington smiled. “Then get on the stage,” she ordered. Holly reluctantly climbed onto the stage. She drew her wand and walked over to one side. Several Slytherins all stood and lined up on the other side all obviously wanting to duel against Holly. Higgs, Vaisey and MacAra led the line.  
           “We’re practicing hexes today,” Warrington reminded Holly. “Did you take the time to review them?”  
           As she spoke Holly noticed a new set of emotions entering the room. She glanced in their direction and saw several shadowy figures slipping silently into back chairs. Holly recognized many of the emotions and guessed they were all Ravenclaws. Why would the Ravenclaws come? Just to watch? Surely not! The situation was bad enough being the center of Slytherin attention but the rest of the school? How did they know to come? What did they know? Holly knew none of the Hufflepuffs had said anything. The Ravenclaw emotions were all confident and expectant. Waiting for what?  
           “Well?” Warrington demanded in answer to her question.  
           Holly forced her attention back to Warrington. “Uh, yeah, I did,” Holly admitted. “Sort of…” If the Ravenclaws knew something did the Gryffindors know something as well? Holly couldn’t sense their presence and that was reassuring. They would never sit still and let an unfair fight continue. Holly hadn’t spoken to her cousins for fear the Slytherins would retaliate against Sasha and was glad her cousins weren’t there to watch her “lose.” At least she hoped they weren’t; she never could tell with James as he practiced Occlumency.  
           “Sort of?” Warrington rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I can see we have a long way to go…” She turned her head, nodded and Higgs walked up to his dueling position.  
           “Wycliff—you’re the one who needs to practice,” decided Warrington. “Cast your best hex and Higgs will defend against it. Higgs smiled as he held up his wand in a mock salute and bowed. Holly bowed back and ignored the urge to scratch an itch on her ankle.  
           “When you are ready, begin,” Warrington instructed.  
           “Uh,” Holly considered what hex to use. _“Densaugeo!”_ she said and pointed her want towards Higgs. A violet light shot out of her wand barely missing Higgs. The scent of eucalyptus filled the air.  
           _“Steleus!”_ shouted Higgs. His spell caught Holly by surprise and hit her squarely on the chest knocking her off her feet. Intense pain radiated filled her lungs and Holly began to cough—deep coughs that hurt with every uncontrollable effort to exhale!  
           “Did I forget to mention that defenders can attack afterwards?” questioned Warrington when Holly’s coughs finally subsided. “I think it makes for a more realistic duel, don’t you think?”  
           “Yeah, right,” muttered Holly as she dragged herself to her feet. The coughing sensation was worse than a Weasley Symptom! She’d have to be ready with her shielding spells. It was one thing to lose but another to get pummeled!  
           “Try again,” encouraged Higgs while grinning. “I’ll be ready!”  
           “I’m sure of that,” muttered Holly to herself while scratching her wand arm with her other hand. Why did she itch so all the sudden? _“Densaugeo!”_ she said again with more force while pointing her wand towards Higgs. There was no need to be creative and “practice” did mean doing one spell over and over again until you got it right… The violet light shot again and struck Higgs on the shoulder but kind of fizzled without working. More eucalyptus wafted out.  
           _“Apis aculeum!”_ he shouted but Holly was ready with her own _“Protegio!”_ successfully blocking his spell but again landing on the floor under the force of his spell.  
           _“Why do I itch so?”_ Holly glanced down at her Hufflepuff friends. All of them were actively scratching! _“Block!”_ Holly closed her eyes, reached within, and blocked. The itching stopped immediately! The whispery emotions of Vaisey and MacAra vanished as well. Holly didn’t need to feel the emotions of the rest of the Slytherins seated; their open laughter was all too obvious. “What did you do!” Holly demanded angrily as she rose.  
           “I did nothing,” replied Warrington innocently.  
           “I think your friends need a flea collar…” added Higgs with a smirk. His words sent the other Slytherins into gales of laughter.  
           _“Densaugeo!”_ snapped Holly angrily. How dare they treat her friends so! Her spell caught Higgs by surprise—he was still laughing at the time. Immediately his front teeth started to grow. And grow and grow!  
           In anger, Higgs pointed his wand at Holly and said something sounding like _“Anteeeoculaatia!”_ An arc of red light shot through Holly feeling like an electric shock. Holly tensed for the growth of horns but nothing else happened. She breathed a mental sigh of relief—he’d said the spell wrong in his haste.  
           _“Apis aculeum!”_ shouted MacAra. Holly screamed as her face suddenly felt as if it had gone on fire. In a haze she heard MacAra say, _“Finite!”_ and then, “That’s what you get for not taking duels seriously, Higgs! _Finite!”_ she said again. The pain stopped abruptly. “I dare you to try that on me!” MacAra added addressing Holly. “Get up!” she ordered.  
           Holly shook her head and curled up on the floor. She still hurt from Higg’s spell, could barely breathe and her face felt puffy and swollen.  
           “You’re fine,” MacAra insisted. “It’s only a little sting! That’s why you need to practice these things for real,” she added lecturing. “It’ll toughen you! Get up!” repeated MacAra. “Or I’ll find something else to practice my spells on!”  
           The threat worked. Holly slowly got to her feet. Her eyelids were almost swollen closed and she could barely see MacAra. _“Protegio!”_ Holly said weakly. Her throat felt raw and scratchy but to her relief, her wand still worked. Holly inhaled the eucalyptus scent her wand had created and to her surprise felt a bit better. _“Protegio!”_ Holly said again in a stronger voice. More eucalyptus sprayed out. Holly breathed in deeply feeling immediately better. _“Protegio!”_ Holly said again and again. The eucalyptus scent from her spells filled the air enveloping Holly’s face and body; the scratchy throat sensation ended and the pain subsided to a dull ache. Holly looked again at MacAra. This time Holly could open her eyes properly to see her and through the haze of eucalyptus Holly saw MacAra standing ready, wand extended with something clear and round completely encasing her head. “What?”  
           “Your stinky wand won’t bother us now!” MacAra said loudly. Her voice sounded weird beneath that circle that looked rather like an upturned fishbowl. The bowl warped and magnified her smug smile. Holly looked around. All the Slytherin heads were covered with fishbowls while the Hufflepuffs coughed and scratched.  
           Holly stood straight and aimed her wand. She was angry at herself. She shouldn’t have lost her temper! That’s when mistakes happen and mistakes could kill—that’s what the aurors had taught her and they were right! Holly couldn’t afford to make the Slytherins angry or they’d hurt Sasha. _“Densaugeo!”_ she said pointing her wand at MacAra.  
           “Oh, pleeeese!” exclaimed MacAra after easily deflecting the spell. “Don’t you know anything else? _Tropezou!”_ she added swiftly.  
           _“Protegio!”_ cried Holly easily blocking it.  
           “You are supposed to be practicing hexes,” reminded MacAra. “That’s hexes with an “s!” Do a different hex!” she instructed.  
           _“Steleus!”_ shouted Holly.  
           _“Protegio!”_ cried MacAra easily blocking. Holly blocked the tail-growing hex MacAra cast afterwards.  
           _“Tarantallegra!”_ shouted Vaisey from the sidelines knocking Holly off her feet. “My turn!” he announced stepping forward as Holly’s legs moved painfully every which way. MacAra saluted Vaisey and stepped to the side.  
           “That’s a jinx!” Holly protested.  
           _“Finite!”_ said Vaisey and Holly’s legs quit dancing about. “Jinx, hex, whatever!” said Vaisey without concern. “You can handle it,” he assured Holly, “or should!” His eyes narrowed and he lifted his wand to the ready position.  
           Holly moaned as she got to her knees. Eucalyptus scent wasn’t stopping them. What else could she do? Suddenly something warm and furry brushed against her legs. Holly froze. There was nothing there—was she imagining things! _“I’ve an invisible cat that visits me every night!”_ she once told Cousin Harry as proof she was crazy. But that hadn’t been an imagination… Holly instantly dropped her block. She itched horribly, felt the urge to cough and felt the excited esthetic emotions of _Sasha_ —right beneath her!  
           _“Go get ‘em!”_ shouted the familiar voice of Conner Fitzpatrick. Next to him Holly recognized the cheerful emotions of Lily, Rose, Hugo and Albus!  
           Resisting the urge to swoop Sasha in her arms, Holly stood and faced her opponent. She could feel Sasha rubbing her legs vigorously threatening to trip her. “Ready?” Holly asked with determination while raising her wand.  
           “Always,” smirked Vaisey.  
           _“Steleus!”_ shouted Holly. Her spell was deflected by Vaisey’s shielding spell but then Holly swiftly added, _“Para Perder Peso!”_ before Vaisey could cast his own spell. The second spell struck Vaisey squarely interrupting his efforts at a second spell.  
           _“Para Perder Peso?”_ asked Vaisey in confusion. “What kind of spell is that?”  
           “It’s a hex!” announced Holly firmly. “And I recommend you hang onto your pants!” Holly’s best hexes came out of a book Professor Lovegood had loaned her titled _Hexing with Love._ That particular hex was a 24 hour/24 pound weight loss hex to impress dates…  
           Vaisey looked at Holly blankly. Abruptly he lowered his wand and clutched his waistband as his hefty body got thinner and thinner… Without a word Holly turned and walked towards the steps to get off the stage.  
           “What do you think you’re doing?” questioned Warrington.  
           “I’m leaving!” Holly announced. She couldn’t wait to scoop up Sasha and bury herself in Sasha’s fur.  
           “No you’re not!” informed Warrington. “Have you forgotten?”  
           “I haven’t forgotten this is all voluntary,” informed Holly. “And I choose to quit.”  
           _“Collo-“_  
           _“Crescat!”_ snapped Holly aiming her wand at MacAra’s head before MacAra could finish her spell. “Find someone else to duel!” Holly advised loudly and continued down the stairs.  
           She had reached the bottom step when she heard a loud crack and “pop!” Holly turned to look. MacAra’s hair had grown and was still growing. The fishbowl around her head had exploded; long masses of red-brown tresses surged out and down. It spilled onto the floor piling up higher and higher burying her in hair. “Oops,” said Holly loudly. “Maybe I _do_ need more practices with my hexes!” She turned and headed, not towards the Hufflepuffs (who were still scratching away,) but to her cousins who clearly had something to do with Sasha’s return.  
           “You’ll regret this!” threatened Warrington.  
           “Regret what?” questioned a serene voice. Holly looked up and saw Professor Lovegood stepping into view. She wore a mottled yellow green robe dotted with purple, white, and blue that reminded Holly of a grassy meadow.  
           “We were, ah, just dueling,” stammered Warrington while pushing aside the masses of still-growing hair that threatened to bury her.  
           “Dueling is better when the opponents are matched,” replied the Professor serenely. “This was no match,” she observed. Holly didn’t know if she meant the Slytherins had outmatched her or the other way. With one hand the Professor reached up to her head and removed the grasshopper hairclips holding her silvery hair in place. She tossed them into the air and shouted _“Gemino!”_ while waving her wand with her other hand. The grasshoppers multiplied into a swarm that flew directly towards the students on the stage.  
           Warrington shrieked. Richards and Malfoy slid off the stage in their haste to avoid the flying insects. The others, caught by the tangle of MacAra’s hair swatted their arms back and forth frantically trying to keep the grasshoppers off. But the grasshoppers wouldn’t leave. They landed burying all those left on the stage under their collective weight.  Between the cries and screams, Holly heard loud "pops" and then the sound of thousands of grasshoppers chomping… Suddenly the grasshoppers swooped back to Professor Lovegood vanishing as they neared leaving two grasshoppers that landed gently in her waiting hand. She placed them back in her long blonde hair pulling the scattered strands back in place. All the excess hair on the stage was gone, eaten by the grasshoppers. MacAra was bald! As were Higgs, Vaisey and Warrington! MacAra placed her hands on her hairless head and squealed. She flung her robe over her head in embarrassment and ran off the stage bumping and knocking Holly over in the process. The other three bald students left just as quickly.  
           “This should be enough dueling for today,” the Professor informed the group. “I trust the review of spells has achieved its purpose,” she added calmly while addressing the remaining Slytherins, “and will not be repeated. Miss Wycliff,” Professor Lovegood added. “I must remind you your prohibition against dueling other students is still in effect. Any further attempts to duel without my express permission will be dealt with severely.”  
           “Yes, ma’am,” replied Holly dutifully. That meant auror practice on Thursday was on as usual…  
           “Miss, Wycliff?” added the Professor.  
           “Yes?”  
           “I understand you can cast a lovely patronus. Would you mind taking a few minutes to demonstrate?”  
           “No, ma’am,” replied Holly. She instantly drew her wand. _“Expecto Patronus!”_ she shouted happily while thinking of the cat that wound lovingly around her legs. Instantly a silvery kitty shot forth from the wand and danced over the heads of the audience. Holly sent it to caper gaily on the bubble-heads of the seated Slytherins. They snarled and made a quick exit leaving the club.  
           “If you would direct it over there,” the Professor suggested while pointing to the still scratching Hufflepuffs. “I believe the eucalyptus scent might further repel the sand fleas…” Holly obligingly sent it weaving through and around the Hufflepuffs providing instant relief.  
           Then Holly sent it over the Ravenclaws and had it circle around the Gryffindors too (James included) who smiled delightedly at its presence.  
           “Thank you,” replied Professor Lovegood when the silvery kitten faded away. “That was a beautiful patronus.”  
           Holly stowed her wand, knelt and picked up an invisible Sasha. “Thank you! Thank you! _Thank you!”_ she told her cousins. “However did you do it?”  
           “It wasn’t just us,” confessed James. “The Ravenclaws found her.”  
           “And we rescued her!” added Hugo proudly.  
           “But we knew you’d never stop the dueling without seeing Sasha for yourself,” said Lawrence Prescott.  
           “And she’d never sit still once we brought her near,” added Lily.  
           “But we didn’t want the Slytherins catching her again,” added Conner.  
           “And then I remembered Father said you’d hidden her with a disillusionment spell while you were at that Muggle Hospital,” put in Albus.  
           “So we did it again!” finished Rose proudly.  
           “Oh, thank you so much!” And Holly buried her face in Sasha’s invisible fur. She looked up when she felt the arrival of several Ravenclaw students.  
           “Is she O.K.?” asked Leila Pilkington with concern.  
           “We couldn’t tell with that disillusionment charm,” added Haley Thompson.  
           “She’s fine!” assured Holly. “Oh, thank you so much! All of you!”  
           “No problem!” acknowledged Prefect Jeremy Corner.  
           “You were taking a real beating until Sasha came on the stage,” Leila said bluntly, “We knew about her, of course, so the reason for the change in your behavior was obvious but I don’t think the Slytherins figured it out.”  
           “I couldn’t risk them knowing Sasha was there,” Holly explained. “They’d have tried to do something to her for sure!”  
           “That means they’re in for a nasty surprise when they get back to their dorms,” observed Thompson.  
           “Oh?”  
           “What?” asked James with curiosity.  
           “A niffler with a white belly!” said Turay with satisfaction. Everyone laughed.  
           Without knowing why Holly joined in the laughter. It was good to laugh again.

**********

          “This has got to stop!” exclaimed Hufflepuff Prefect Donna MacMillan angrily. “Transfiguring pets!!! That’s lower than low! Holly is an absolute wreck! What will they do next?” Donna was sitting in a prefect meeting on the top floor of Hogwarts, a meeting she had called, one to which the Slytherin Prefects had _not_ been invited.  
           “No doubt something vindictive,” answered Ravenclaw Prefect Alessa Moore calmly. “We could teach Holly the disillusionment spell we use,” she offered. “The Slytherins don’t seem to notice us when we use it and they’re going to be really mad at Holly now.”  
           “We already suggested that,” stated Hufflepuff Prefect Eddie Shunpike, “and Holly flat out refuses. She says she spent all last year hiding from Sir and won’t spend the rest of her life hiding from Slytherins! And she shouldn’t have to slink around the school as if she didn’t belong,” he argued. “Besides, if we all did that, the only ones the Slytherins would have left to take out their anger on would be the Gryffindors and that wouldn’t be fair!”  
           “Fine by us,” stated Gryffindor Prefect Taylor O’Daniel confidently. “We’ve had enough of their behavior anyway. Besides, I think the Potters are already plotting revenge…”  
           “If they do something, that’ll only make things worse,” observed Ravenclaw Prefect Jeremy Corner. “The Slytherins will retaliate! Things will escalate! The school will be a battleground!”  
           “Perhaps an open battle is what we need to force McGonagall to expel some of them!” stated Gryffindor Prefect Alexia Finnegan bluntly. “They shouldn’t be here anyway the way they’ve been acting!”  
           “That won’t help anything,” stated Moore. “There’s no ring leader we can identify, no single group of Slytherins doing the harassing. The students expelled would challenge the decision and those students not expelled would merely redouble what they are doing in retaliation! That’s what they’ve done every time anyone has complained to the professors. Expulsion will not slow the rest of the Slytherins or help you unless they’re all expelled and McGonagall won’t do that!  
           “So what are we supposed to do?” questioned Eddie. “Traveling in groups is no longer enough! We’ve been patrolling but we can’t be everywhere...”  
           “We have a right to study and learn free of bullying, harassment and fear!” Donna insisted. “We should be studying for our N.E.W.T. and instead we’re guarding pets and classmates and worrying about what the Slytherins will do next!”  
           “Why exactly have you asked us to meet?” questioned Corner.  
           Donna took a deep breath. “You worked together to rescue Holly’s cat,” she began. “It was brilliant!” she acknowledged. “I think that if we all work together, we can find a way to deal with the Slytherins...”

 


	33. Chapter 33

          A gentle tap sounded at the door. Paige looked up at the sound. Right on time. She stood and glanced around the room. The table in the center of the room had two matching chairs placed under it. Her Journal was already on the table. A single lit candle provided illumination. The tall lime green coloured candle was held upright by her heirloom snake holder and moved sinuously around the candle while lit. The candleholder was a proud acknowledgement and reminder of her heritage. Nothing more was necessary. A second knock sounded. Paige pointed her wand at the door and it opened silently. Wizard Boot stood on the other side of the door.  
           Wizard Terry Boot operated a tiny curio shop on the end of Diagon Alley. It contained cheap souvenirs and cheesy charms catering to the unsuspecting tourist. Paige knew he had once been a member of Dumbledore’s Army. She had not known he had gone on to become a potions master—who would have guessed when his shop contained the barest of potion ingredients and sold no potions! She certainly didn’t know he was an auror until he had come to her door and introduced himself as her supervisor for the duration of her apprenticeship! At that time, Boot had grilled Paige over the ingredients, best storage methods and proper preparation of every potion she had ever made while at Hogwarts. Then he had demanded to see the work she had done while in Paris, the work she had done so far and intended to do in preparation for the Ball, insisted Paige prepare five potions, her choice, in front of him and finally explained what he would expect of her. It had been an exhausting day.  
           “Miss Crowley,” acknowledged Boot with a nod of his head. “You are looking well.” Paige did not answer. “May I come in?”  
           Paige regarded him steadily with unblinking eyes again not answering but she made the door swing open a few more centimeters. “Thank you,” said Boot and he walked in. “I see you are ready,” he said noting the journal on the table. He took off his tattered blue cloak, folded it carefully, hung it over the back of the chair and then sat down in the same chair. “Won’t you sit down?” Boot invited though it was _her_ room. Paige slid silently back in her chair.  
           “How are you?” he asked conversationally while pulling the journal to his side of the table.  
           Paige did not answer. It was not his concern.  
           “Have you been keeping your journal?” Boot asked next.  
           “Yes,” Paige replied simply. The Journal _was_ his business. It was an annoying part of being an Apprentice.  
           “May I look through it?”  
           Paige did not answer. Of course he could look through it! That was his _right_ as wizard supervisor; he was supposed to oversee all work Paige did related to potions.  
           Taking her silence as consent, Boot opened the Journal and began to read. Paige kept her face inscrutably calm and waited.  
           Boot’s visit was an annoyance but one that had to be tolerated until she became a proper Potion Mixer. Hopefully, the visit wouldn’t take long. Paige had been scrupulous keeping the journal. As instructed she recorded every potion she had made since the day she became an Apprentice. The work done on order by the Ministry, and her independent work were neatly kept in separate locations. She also recorded all potions and potion ingredients she had acquired and all that left her custody whether by sale or gift. There was a separate section for her original work, both successes and failures—the ingredients were included along with actual recipes. As her Potions Supervisor, Boot was sworn to not reveal any of that unless there was something suspicious or dark in nature. Paige wasn’t worried on that accord. There was nothing remotely questionable within anything she had done.  
           “Any problems?” Boot asked as he turned through the pages. He started with the accounting section, of course. As an Apprentice, Paige had to charge less for potions than that of the Supervisor she worked under. Paige wasn’t sure how that worked as she had never seen Boot sell any potions but she made sure her prices were lower than the going rate on general potions and a bit higher for those of her own creation.  
           “No.”  
           “Any questions?”  
           “No.” Actually, Paige was still trying to find the recipe for _Lunacy_ but as it was an “illegal” potion “looking” for it was probably illegal also.  
           “Anything you wish to discuss?”  
           “No.”  
           “I note a rather large _sale_ to the Ministry of _Dreamless_ on the date of the Pilkington Ball,” Boot said in a conversational voice. “I presume that is how you countered the effects of _Lunacy?”_  
           “Yes.”  
           “But there’s nothing in your potion uses reflecting that.”  
           “I didn’t use it as a potion.”  
           “Nor has _Serenity_ been used as a potion,” Boot countered. “But we must be concerned and record the other uses potions may have. That information needs to be added in.” He flipped the Journal around and slid a quill to Paige indicating he wanted her to do that now, not later.  
           Paige picked up the quill and began to write. It was disconcerting to realize Boot knew all about her problems with _Serenity._ It was a potions matter and he was her supervisor, so it made sense, but disconcerting all the same; Paige was not one to share her problems with anyone.  
           “Have you tested your other potions for possible airborn qualities?”  
           “No.”  
           “Well, perhaps you should. Better to know now than find out later…”  
           “Yes,” Paige murmured as she continued to write.  
           “Make sure you record your results.”  
           “Of course.” She could bill the Ministry for it!  
           “You could charge the Ministry for your work,” Boot added as if reading Paige’s mind, “but I wouldn’t recommend it unless you plan to send them the results too…”  
           “Oh.” Paige definitely didn’t want to send them the results unless ordered to…  
           “I heard your engagement got cancelled,” Boot stated as Paige finished up. Paige did not answer. “My condolences. What happened?”  
Again, Paige ignored his question; that was definitely _not_ his business. “Finished,” Paige announced and slid the journal back to Boot.  
           He read through her new entry quickly. “Very creative,” he said approvingly. “As was your quick thinking to realize something was amiss in the first place…” Paige nodded but said nothing; the praise and acknowledgement was her due…  
           “Your request for “Hazard” pay was turned down, by the way,” Boot told her.  
           It had been no “request;” it had been a proper billing after Potter opened up the Potion room in his mansion…  
           “It (the request) was sent to payroll,” Boot continued conversationally, “and one of those anonymous paper pushers in accounts noted you were already on “active” duty. As an auror, potion clean-ups are not “extra” but part of the territory… All our work is hazardous or has the potential to be.” Boot looked up from the journal. The refusal was forwarded to me with an explanation…”  
           “You?” questioned Paige with surprise.  
           “Yes. I’m responsible for all your activities while you are an apprentice,” Boot told her dryly. “I hope you weren’t trying to over-bill the Ministry?” he asked bluntly.  
           “My active duty assignment did not mention potion clean-ups,” Paige replied coolly.  
           “Active duty includes doing whatever is necessary,” Boot told Paige sternly. “You _swore_ to support the Ministry,” Boot reminded. “And you skate on thin ice with your oath if you try to cook the books… The billing department took you off of “active” duty once you came out of witness protection,” Boot continued again in a conversational voice. “I let them as you were clearly doing more work preparing personal potions than Ministry ones. But I insisted you be maintained on an hourly pay status as you had not yet completed the potion assignment given to you by Wizard Thomas. That’s why you’ve been paid the standard hourly rate for your work at Pilkington’s Ball, plus expenses.”  
           Paige blinked. Why hadn’t she heard of any of this before? As if to answer her unspoken question, Boot pulled out a small scroll bearing a Ministry Seal. “This is an account of your employment finances to date he told her,” as he handed it to her.  
           She took the scroll and unrolled it cautiously. “The money has been deposited in your auror account at Gringotts. I presume you know how to access it,” Boot added as she reviewed the numbers. Paige nodded absently. Go to her regular vault and once there, ask the goblin to take her to her auror vault. That way no one outside would know she had a second vault. The numbers seemed to agree with what Boot said. Paige rolled up the scroll intending to file it away and study further later. “If you’ve no complaint, it needs your thumbprint on that,” Boot told her. Paige unrolled the scroll again and again looked at the numbers committing them to memory. Then she placed her right thumb at the base of the parchment. Before her eyes, the document seemed to dissolve and crumble into fine sand. “It’s only a copy,” assured Boot. “The original’s in your auror file. But it isn’t good leaving things like that around to be found by others…”  
           “Why haven’t I—”  
           “Seen any of this before? The first time is delivered in person,” Boot told her. “In case you have any questions… I would have passed it all on to you sooner, but, you’ve been pretty busy with the Ball, then the wedding and, well, it could wait…”  
           Boot returned his attention to Paige’s journal turning to the potion section. He skipped through the standard potions pretty quickly slowing when he reached Paige’s creations. He stopped altogether when he got to the page bearing the potion Paige had made for Wycliff. The name was simply “29” which was probably enough to get anyone’s attention.  
           “Did it work?” he asked revealing he could tell from the contents and directions what it did.  
           “Yes,” replied Paige briefly steeling herself for more questions. She didn’t know what she could or should say about her activities to capture Sir…  
           “How did the memories return?” Boot asked instead.  
           “I don’t know,” Paige reluctantly admitted. It should have been a kaleidoscope burst followed by a steady stream of memories but had that actually happened? She only knew the memories had returned as planned because on day 30 Winky had taken her to Sir’s lair...  
           “Oh.” Boot turned the page. “You should find out,” he told her. “For future reference.”  
           “Yes, sir,” Paige murmured politely. As Wycliff was currently attending Hogwarts, Paige didn’t figure that would be any time soon nor would she ask.  
           Boot continued reading the Journal. “Nice job,” he commented about her impromptu creation to remove the green side effect from her dreamless potion. Paige nodded wordlessly.  
           Boot skimmed through the next few potions stopping at her most recent efforts. He frowned as he read. “No,” he muttered suddenly. “The proportions aren’t right…” He turned the next page. “Nor this one… Or this…” He suddenly flipped back several pages and started to re-read her potions. “You’re too good to mess up like this…” he muttered while reading through them again. Abruptly he looked up at Paige. “These are _goblin_ potions!” he announced suddenly. Paige said nothing keeping her expression perfectly calm. It wasn’t illegal to make potions for goblins. “Have you a _goblin_ for a client?” Boot demanded.  
           “No,” she answered honestly.  
           “But these are _goblin_ potions!” Boot persisted. “Are you giving out samples? Trying to get goblin clients?”  
           “No.”  
           “Your potions! I want to see them.”  
           Paige was required to keep a sample of all potions she made for his review and approval. In this case, Paige brought out the actual potions as they hadn’t yet been delivered. Paige stood and went to her potions cabinet. She pulled two bottles off the shelf and set them on the table. She repeated her actions until there were six bottles on the table.  
           “Have you given any to your client yet?” Boot asked as he picked up first one bottle and then the next and the next visually surveying the contents.  
           “No.”  
           Boot uncorked the last bottle and waved his hand over it to sniff the vapors. He frowned. Pulling a glass straw from his pocket, Boot dipped the straw into the potion and carefully capped the end of the straw with his finger. He placed the straw over the tray and removed his finger. Two drops of potion fell onto the table. Boot produced five more glass straws and did the same with the other potions.  
           Paige watched Boot curiously. She couldn’t imagine what his problem was; she had done her research. There was nothing wrong with her work.  
           Boot pulled out his wand and aimed them at the drops. _“Ferrum revelare!”_ he commanded. The potion drops all glowed with eerie red tint. Abruptly Boot used his wand and swept the six potion bottles onto the floor. The bottles broke splashing potion everywhere!  
           “What are you doing?!” exclaimed Paige angrily.  
           “How _dare_ you try to pass off that slop as potions!” Boot exclaimed angrily. “They may work on short wizards but _never_ for goblins! Even if they are only goblins, I will not permit you to produce anything but the _best_ while you are my apprentice!”  
           “That was not slop!” argued Paige. “It was perfectly researched!”  
           “You mean _im_ perfectly researched,” countered Boot icily. “Did you ever think to discuss this with me? I told you to let me know if you intended to attempt something new!”  
           “You’re just mad I didn’t _consult_ you first!” snapped Paige aloud and added mentally _“Like I would discuss anything with a curio owner!”_  
           “No, I’m angry because you produced a piece of garbage! I thought you were _better_ than that. If you truly wish to become a Potions Mistress then you need to set aside your prejudices and utilize information from _every_ source.”  
           “What prejudices? What did I miss!” demanded Paige.  
           “Gold!” retorted Boot. “Rule number one when preparing goblin potions. Remember? Gold, gold, _gold!_ Or silver, if you must, but never iron! There’s a good reason why goblins wear gloves and demand everything in gold and silver and it isn’t just elite snobbery. Yet you made your potions in your _iron_ cauldron contaminating everything!”  
           “What are you talking about?” questioned Paige in confusion. Sure, there had been accounts of prima donna goblins insisting on gold usage but no _rule_ …  
           Boot rolled his eyes in obvious annoyance. “Didn’t you even bother to check the library?”  
           “Of course I did!” snapped Paige.  
           “The _Auror_ Library?”  
           _“The what?”_ What Auror library?!!  
           Boot sighed. “The one you should be using when you wish to research things, like goblin potions…” he answered with exaggerated patience.  Boot looked directly at Paige. “When we learned Sir was a Metamorphmagus and could look like any of us, we went into the Ministry Library, removed all the really good spell and potion books and put them in the Auror Library. Only aurors can enter the Auror Library,” he told Paige. “We didn’t want Sir using our own information against us.”  
           “Why didn’t I know—”  
           “Didn’t ask!” replied Boot succinctly.  
           “And you didn’t tell!” Paige retorted angrily.  
           “No reason to. You were perfectly capable of handling everything you were up to when we last met. I asked you to notify me if things changed. That wasn’t a spurious request.” Boot rolled his eyes and sighed. “Go back to the Ministry Library and find this book.” He pulled out a scrap of parchment and scribbled out some words. He handed the scrap to Paige. She looked down and read _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1._ “Press your thumb in the “O” of the title and it’ll open the Auror library,” instructed Boot. “Can’t take anything out, but you can stay as long as you like… You’ll find pages 35 and 48 most informative…”  
           _“Page 35 and 48 of what???”_ wondered Paige as she folded up the scrap of parchment. But she didn’t ask. Presumably, that would be obvious once she got into the Auror Library.  
           “Goblins are allergic to iron,” Boot added in a patient sounding voice. “Anything made in the standard cauldron won’t work right for them!”  
           “That’s not true,” argued Paige. “They’re around iron all the time with no ill effects.  
           “Around it, yes, but they don’t _ingest_ it!” replied Boot firmly. “You’ve got to use a gold or silver cauldron and a stone-carved spoon for stirring. Otherwise the iron contamination will ruin all your efforts. Even better make all your preparations in an iron free room and make sure none of your ingredients have been touched by iron either—preferably cut by silver knives or fingernails. That’s one reason why no one bothers to do goblin healing; it’s too expensive if you want to do it right! I’ve a silver cauldron and stone-cut spoon you can borrow if necessary. But I don’t have an iron free mixing room… You’ll need to make that. I also need to know who your client is,” he added. “There is so much room for error in third party potions,” he told her. “You say you haven’t a goblin client and aren’t passing out samples. But you’ve made a large variety of pain potions designed for goblins. That suggest you’re collaborating with someone who intends to distribute your potions perhaps passing off your work as his or her own… I don’t approve of that kind of deceit but that’s not my business as long as the potions you make are top quality. However, I need to make sure the person you’re working with follows all the rules too. I won’t have you falling afoul of the laws because of something someone else does! So, who is it?”  
           Paige regarded Boot disdainfully. That he would think she would _ever_ hide behind someone else’s name! “Wycliff,” she answered.  
           Boot leaned back in his chair. “Wycliff!” he whistled in surprise. “She’s no con! But she barely knows the wizard world let alone the goblin community…” Boot frowned in thought. _“Gottenram!”_ he exploded suddenly. “Was all that potion for Gottenram?” Boot asked looking directly at Paige. Paige met his gaze squarely and said nothing. “That’s a lot of pain!” observed Boot taking her silence as assent. “Sir must have really done a number on him!”  
           “What makes you think it was Sir?” questioned Paige curiously. She only knew because of what Wycliff had said and she doubted Wycliff had said anything to Boot. Potter, maybe…  
           “Gottenram was identified as a possible victim of Sir last year,” Boot informed Paige. “Wycliff insisted on helping everyone else Sir brutalized; of course she would want to help Gottenram if he was indeed also a victim. Though I’m not sure why it was so difficult for her to get in to see him…” Boot added thoughtfully.  
           “The bank?” questioned Paige softly.  
           “Yes,” answered Boot.  
           “You were there?”  
           “Course. All the shopkeepers were. It would have looked odd if I hadn’t closed my shop and joined them. Glad I went. Never saw so many angry goblins in one place before,” he mused. “Goblins are pretty proud,” Boot commented thoughtfully. “I wonder how Wycliff got Gottenram to tell her his symptoms. No, he didn’t, did he?" Book added answering his own question. "She’s an Empath,” he continued aloud speaking to himself. “Any idea how she’s planning to give it to him?”  
           “She didn’t say.”  
           “I’m sure she’ll think of something,” mused Boot aloud. “Keep track of your hours and send the bill to the Ministry. I’ll approve it. We cleaned up Sir’s other messes at no charge; Gottenram should be no different.”  
           “You’re not taking over?” asked Paige in surprise. After the way he claimed she had botched things…  
           “Of course not!” answered Boot. “Wycliff came to you, not me. She doesn’t know I exist and certainly has no reason to trust me or any potion I make. Fortunately, there’s no need for Wycliff to think her faith in you was not justified.”  
           Paige felt herself warm at the implied criticism. “What would it have done?” she asked cautiously. “My potion?” Could she have inadvertently killed a goblin? The idea was terribly exciting.  
           “Definitely not what it was intended,” assured Boot, “and would have given Gottenram a host of unpleasant side effects sufficient to reinforce goblin perceptions of wizard incompetence. Let me know when you’re finished. I want to look over everything before you send it to Wycliff; I don’t want you ruining _my_ reputation so whatever you send had better work perfectly!”  
           “Yes, sir,” murmured Paige softly. "It will," she assured him. Inside she seethed; her work had always been flawless! No one had ever before suggested otherwise. There had never been a reason to. It would _not_ happen again!  
           “Also, you should think of a different delivery besides the standard potion and bottle.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. No goblin would ever trust we could get it right no matter how well researched or intended so it’s got to look like something different.”  
           “Yes, sir.” A potion that did not look like a potion. Interesting…  
           “You working on anything else?”  
           “No.”  
           “Oh?” Boot looked up at Paige with a raised eyebrow. “Then why were you at the Ministry library the other day? And don’t tell me it had to do with goblins.”  
           “How?” The word slipped out involuntarily in surprise.  
           “I often go there to read when business is slow,” Boot admitted, “and I saw you...”  
           “It’s not potion related…”  
           “What is it?”  
           “I’m working on a water analysis,” Paige admitted. Actually she had been looking up contemporaries of Guilderoy Lockhart trying identify the witches and wizards from whom he had gotten his stories. If she could find someone still alive whose memories Lockhart had modified, perhaps she could learn more about the spell(s) he used… Wycliff’s request, however, was a good explanation for the library visit and less personal.  
           “Water analysis?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Why?”  
           “It’s been suggested the water is contaminated…”  
           “By whom?” Paige did not answer.  
           “What water?” Boot persisted.  
           “A spring near Hogwarts…”  
           “The Centaur Spring?” he asked looking instantly looking alert.  
           “Yes.”  
           “What’s wrong with it?”  
           “Why?”  
           “The Centaur Spring feeds into the lake and the lake water is used by Hogwarts. The centaurs like to think of themselves as superior, but their constitution is rather, um, delicate. If the water is making them sick then if follows the same water will eventually make the students sick too. So is it contaminated?”  
           “Perhaps,” Paige answered cautiously. “I’m still examining it.” Short of checking to see if the two water samples had any visual impurities she hadn’t done much examining at all.  
           “I’ll notify Dean and have him put you on active duty starting today to look into it full time,” Boot informed Paige. “Our students are our most valuable resource; we must take every care to keep them safe.”  
           “Yes, sir,” said Paige softly. _“I can bill the Ministry!”_  
           “Good. Are there any questions?” He looked at her pointedly challenging her to say something.  
           “No—yes. _Lunacy!”_  
           “What about it?”  
           “What’s the recipe?”  
           “Why?”  
           “I need to make a counter to it!”  
           “You already did!”  
           _“What!!!???”_ Paige stared at Boot in shock.  
           “If the evidence is to be believed,” Boot added in a casual voice, “not that we believed it…”  
           “What evidence?”  
           “That tiny green bottle partially filled with a _Lunacy_ Counter Dean found in the vest he was wearing the night of the ball. Why didn’t you mention the missing bottles?” Boot asked directly.  
           Paige stared. _“When had all this happened?”_  
           “Something like that should be reported as soon as it’s noticed especially when you know someone is trying to frame you…” Boot scolded without waiting for an answer. “The counter works really well, too,” he added informatively. “Much better than the old one which tended to give warts as a side effect. If I had to guess, I would say Sir made it and then gave the bottle and the _Lunacy_ jar to Dean to frame you.” Boot concluded aloud. “Would have asked you about it but you were nowhere to be found…” Boot continued. “Did Harry whisk you away afterwards?” he stared at Paige’s expressionless face, at least she hoped it was expressionless. Much of what Boot was saying was news to Paige. “Had no idea you were directly involved until he did that.”  
           “Involved?” Paige managed to ask in a strangled whisper.  
           “Harry’s operation to get Sir!” explained Boot. “Didn’t know what he was doing, of course, Harry wouldn’t say, but didn’t want to interfere with its chances of success. Unfortunately, we couldn’t explain any of it to Dean as he was clearly under observation. Dean tried to resign for having compromised wizard security, you know. Kingsley wouldn’t let him seeing as no damage was done… Curious how the _Lunacy_ Counter recipe is now in the Auror Library in the Antidotes book… Obviously not _your_ doing…”  
           “DeWitt!” Paige whispered involuntarily. She knew he and Wycliff had cleaned out Sir’s possessions before setting the fire but not what he had done with Sir’s things afterwards…  
           “DeWitt?” echoed Boot with surprise. “Well, that makes sense. Now I know who not to ask questions… Speaking of which, any other questions?”  
           “No.” This meeting needed to end so she could find that library!  
           “Excellent!” said Boot. “That should about do it, then.” He closed the journal. “One more thing,” Boot added as he slid the journal back to Paige. “I note you have made numerous potions designed to heal or deter headaches.” He looked at Paige directly. “Might I ask if the potions were for one person or many?”  
           Paige tensed. “One,” she admitted reluctantly.  
           “Interesting…” Boot mused. “Did any of your potions work?”  
           “No.”  
           “Do you happen to know if the client went to someone else for help during the times you did not make potions?”  
           “The client did not.”  
           “Did the client travel?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Were the times when the client experienced the headaches when the client was at her home?”  
           “No.”  
           “Interesting. I should like to meet this client, if possible.”  
           “Why? The client is no longer experiencing the headaches.”  
           “Perhaps, but the circumstance of intense headaches and then nothing and then more headaches suggests something else may be at work…”  
           “What do you mean?”  
           “Well, if the headaches were location specific, then I would suggest you check the area for something dark in nature.”  
           “Dark?”  
           “Yes, some people claim to be sensitive to dark magic and your client may be one of them.”  
           “The client is _not_ a sensitive,” Paige assured with disdain. She would know if she were…  
           “Perhaps, or perhaps your client doesn’t realize she is a sensitive...”  
           “Sensitivity to Dark Magic is a myth!” Paige asserted.  
           “Something not definitively proven is not conclusively a myth,” countered Boot. “Sensitivity to Dark Magic is often associated with physical ailments such as headaches and stomachaches.” he added. “When perfectly good potions don’t seem to work you must look for other causes. As an auror, you are the perfect person to investigate further,” he added.  
           “I am?”  
           “Yes, some theorists suggest that by making an unbreakable vow against Dark Magic aurors become sensitive.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. Remember your Dark Magic classes?”  
           Paige didn’t. She only remembered bits and pieces of that year but she didn’t say so.  
           Fortunately, Boot continued without expecting a response. “Seriously dark pieces of magic can warp and influence the behavior of those who come near or in contact with it. Presumably, any such behavior would be somehow dark in nature thus in conflict with an auror’s vows. The internal fight between the warping influence and the magic of the unbreakable vow, if it didn’t immediately kill the auror, might result in all sorts of physical side effects the least of which, being headaches. It’s all theory, of course,” Boot finished while leaning back in his chair, “as it would take a piece of seriously dark magic to test with and we try to destroy such things as soon as we find them.”  
           “All theory,” murmured Paige thoughtfully. Could her headaches be the result of something Dark nearby? She turned the idea over in her mind.  
           “The auror part’s theory,” answered Boot. “Not the warping part. Only a few years ago we were called to Hogwarts to investigate the remains of a plaque that was a piece of dark magic created by Lord Voldemort. It supposedly called people with green eyes to touch it but was fortunately destroyed before anything serious happened.”  
           Paige’s eyes opened wide in remembrance. “The Potter boy touched it!” she whispered suddenly remembering how close Tom had come to expulsion that year for not believing Taylor O’Daniels' plea for assistance. The incident had inspired her to create a potion to help curb Tom’s anger—one she later named _Serenity..._  
           “Yes, I believe so,” agreed Boot. “But nothing came of it.”  
           “That we know of,” murmured Paige thoughtfully. Could Anthony and Tom’s behavior changes also be the result of Dark Magic influence? They could be in serious trouble without even knowing!  
           “Something that dark? By Voldemort?” questioned Boot. “Believe me, we’d know…”  
           Paige did not disagree but she remembered other things from that year, things Boot obviously did not know. Tom had told her O’Daniels had insisted Potter had “vanished” which should not be possible in the secure grounds of Hogwarts—the reason why Tom had not believed him. McGonagall had been uncharacteristically angry over a simple act of harmless Hall magic and Paige suddenly realized “green-eyed” Wycliff had had a drastic, near skeletal, weight loss right after the incident, which suggested the girl had been suffering the after-effects of something big. Had Wycliff touched the plaque as well? Paige was suddenly certain that something very dark indeed had happened, something that must have also been “undone...” Was that also why the Potter boy could see thestrals the next year? Who “died” when the Potter boy touched the plaque? Paige was now certain the plaque must also have had something to do with the “Room of Doom” Auntie D. had sought…  
           “Should the client come to me again complaining of headaches,” Paige said aloud changing the subject, “I shall keep your words about Dark objects in mind and perhaps arrange for you to meet the client…” she promised vaguely. Paige was no longer welcome at the Richards’ place. But now she needed to return. Would the headaches return as well if she did? If so, what should she do? How did one find a piece of dark magic? She needed to do more research, starting with the _Auror_ Library...

 


	34. Chapter 34

          Leila Renee Pilkington, Alessa Moore, and Kelly Davies (all Ravenclaw students) entered the potions classroom. They were early so the room was empty and they had their choice of seats. Leila sat down at a table where she had a view of both the doorway and of one table in particular. Alessa sat down next to Leila but angled her chair so she could see a different direction when she looked up. Kelly sat at a nearby table. Leila tucked her feet up under her knees so they didn’t touch the floor, took out her notebook decorated with a heart made of multi-coloured rhinestones and set it in her lap in preparation for class. Then she pulled out a potions book and pretended to be reviewing. A few minutes later, Daren Azi, and Brian Brayden, and Michael Goldstein (Ravenclaws as well) walked in and sat down at a different table that was on the opposite side of the room in back; they also pulled out books to read.  
           Then came the Slytherins. They stopped at the entrance of the room and scowled openly when they saw the Ravenclaws already seated. Martina Goyle stomped up to Leila. Goyle was short and chunky and tied her short brown hair in two stubby pigtails. She wore heavy shoes and frequently stepped on any feet in her path often breaking bones in the process. “You’re in my chair!” she said aggressively. Leila ignored her keeping her eyes downcast, apparently fixed to the book. “I said, you’re in my chair!” Goyle repeated in a louder voice.  
           Leila knew it didn’t matter where she sat, it would still be in Goyle’s “chair,” or Ogg’s, or Richards’… About the only way of stopping the Slytherins from accusing the other students from being in “my chair” was to let them come in and sit first, thus avoiding the musical chairs routine. But if she did that, then the Slytherins would have the opportunity to set up all sorts of tricks in the classroom to spring upon unsuspecting students.  
           “Did you hear me!” she demanded.  
           Leila looked up from her book. “Thank you,” she said quietly.  
           Confusion filled Goyle’s face. “Huh?” The Ravenclaws had been “thanking” the Slytherins for every rude, crude and inappropriate behavior they did and they (the Slytherins) still hadn’t figured out a response. They were denser than dense this year.  
           “Thank you or letting me sit here,” Leila clarified.  
           “I didn’t say you could sit there!” Goyle denied loudly.  
           “Course you did,” assured Leila. “Why else would I be here? I was thinking that chair over there was much nicer,” she nodded her head towards an empty chair at the other table, “but you said I should sit here so that’s why I’m sitting here.”  
           “Uh…”  
           “If you insist, I can move over to there which is where I wanted to be anyway. Would you like that?”  
           "Uh, yes, uh no!” replied Goyle indecisively suddenly deciding the other chair was better than the one Leila was in, especially if Leila wanted it.  
           “O.K.,” replied Leila easily. The grass was always greener on the other side of the fence, but Goyle was never sure which side of the fence she was on… “Thank you.” Leila repeated and looked back down at her book but not before she caught sight of Daren Azi’s wand waving on the other side of the room. Daren must have caught sight of something else going on while Goyle had been talking to Leila.  
           Goyle hastily sat down in the chair Leila had indicated as more students entered the class. Ogg sat next to her. Leila could see the two easily from her position. The Hufflepuffs came in as a group along with the Gryffindors and sat at the other tables in the free chairs between the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. They timed their arrival to just before class began to minimize Slytherin opportunities for harassment.  
           Professor Slughorn stepped forward. Leila closed her book, set it on her bag in easy reach, and directed her attention on the professor. The Professor instructed the students to make a Draught of Peace, a requirement on the O.W.L.S. Leila already had the directions and ingredients memorized. It was a finicky potion requiring ingredients to be added at just the right time, in precisely the right order and stirred a specific direction for an exact number of times… Leila had already tried making it once for the Potions contest three years earlier. It had failed dismally. That was before the new Borage potions books came out with the Half Blood Prince revisions. (courtesy of Albus Potter and Rose Weasley) In reading his revisions, Leila learned the potion was more easily created if one stirred two times counter-clockwise and one time clockwise (instead of three stirs counter-clockwise) and added a pinch of powdered rosemary after the hellebore before simmering. This time the surface of her potion achieved the desired shimmering mist of silver vapor without difficulty. While bottling her potion to turn in, Leila spotted Ogg kicking something small and silvery under a table used by Hufflepuff students. She quietly drew her wand _“Diffendo!”_ she whispered while aiming her wand at the silvery object. It flew forward landing against the wall near the trashcan. Judging from the colour, it was probably a flobberworm, or not. Whatever it was would do less damage near the trash…  
           Then she noticed one of the lights on her notebook blinking. Leila opened the book and read: _“Richards put something in Fitzpatrick’s cauldron. B.”_ As she read, another line appeared beneath the first. _“I’m on it. A.”_  
           Scarcely had she closed her notebook when Albus Potter stood up. “Oops!” he said loudly. Leila looked in his direction. It looked like Potter had spilled the potion he was bottling. He moved quickly past Fitzpatrick to get something to clean it up. Potter’s elbow bumped Fitzpatrick’s cauldron in the process causing it to tip and fall. Potter had a reputation for being clumsy but Leila knew this time had been no accident. “Sorry about that,” Potter said loudly while surveying the spilled contents. “I’ll help you make some more,” he promised.  
           Fitzpatrick drew out his wand and said, _“Evanesco!”_ causing the cauldron contents to vanish and proceeded to measure out the ingredients for a new potion. It was no big deal as the contents were already ruined by whatever Richards had put in it. Leila caught the scowl on Richards before he managed to wipe his face clear of expression and look as if nothing had happened. Towards the end of class a light on her notebook began blinking again. Leila opened it. _“I need a distraction! R.”_  
           “Professor Slughorn?” spoke up Becky Smith. All eyes turned to her, well, almost all.  
           “Yes?”  
           “I counted seven different sleep potions in the book. Why are there so many?”  
           The Professor puffed up and began to speak. “That’s because…”  
           Leila watched Rose Weasley aim her wand towards the potion bottles in the back of the class and cause the labels identifying who made which potion to trade. One of the Slytherins must have switched them.  
           The professor finished answering the question and dismissed the class. The students all packed and rose to leave. The Slytherin students moved more slowly than the rest, no doubt lingering to watch the effects of their mischief, but nothing happened and soon there was no one to watch. The rest of the students had exited without suffering any Slytherin-caused difficulties and without giving the Slytherins a second glance. The Gryffindors hurried quickly to arrive in the next classroom before their Slytherins classmates. Leila stepped out of the classroom in time to see Donald Wrezenski, Hugh Douglass and Susan Breysburry shimmer into nothingness against the wall using a disillusionment charm. They would follow behind the Slytherins to their next class, watch for and try to undo anything the Slytherins might attempt in the halls.  
           The Ravenclaws maintained that the only way to stop the bullying was to ignore it. The Hufflepuffs argued that ignoring was not possible when being the _victim_ of one of their antics. So it was decided to remove the “victims” as much as possible while “ignoring” the Slytherins. The Slytherins were outnumbered 3 to one at Hogwarts so there were plenty of eyes to take shifts, watch their movements and make sure anything the Slytherins did got quietly and quickly _undone._ Besides avoiding the loss of house points from direct confrontation, the strategy had the added bonus of providing the rest of the students with lots of practical experience with their spells. It didn’t always work; some things were missed even with all the watching, but the daily harassment was reduced considerably.  
           The once arrogant Slytherins walked about more often than not with puzzled expressions on their faces. They knew they were being thwarted but could not identify any one student or house upon which to retaliate and couldn’t ask what had happened without admitting they had been up to something in the first place.

**********

          “I will lift the Bounty!” announced Gottenram imperiously.  
           “Lift it!” demanded Harry Potter. He had again gone to Gringotts on business, this time with his wife Ginny. Griphook had gotten another goblin to lead Ginny to the vaults and taken Harry to a private room in back…  
           Gottenram stared at Harry with malevolent black eyes. Harry stared back. “You will tell me he is dead,” asserted Gottenram. “That is the reason why I need fear him no more. Why insist I lift the bounty for a _dead_ wand carrier?” Rita had placed a small notice about Sir in the obituaries. The goblins must have either read or heard about it from there…  
           “I will tell the truth,” asserted Harry firmly.  
           “The truth is that he _lives_ and you wand carriers protect him with your _lies!_ ”  
           Harry did not answer. Gottenram was right, of course. Fortunately, most of the wizard population seemed to accept the story without question. Those who knew or suspected otherwise had not tried to correct the story. Gottenram stared at Harry again. Harry stared back without emotion, waiting. After about a minute, Harry turned to leave.  
           “Wait!”  
           Harry paused. The whole room seemed to shutter. Harry turned and again faced Gottenram.  
           “It is done,” Gottenram said heavily. He was different somehow, less imperious, less arrogant. Harry knew this time Bounty had actually been lifted.  
           “You may have met this wand carrier when he was but a small boy,” Harry began in a low voice. “Or not. His father,” Harry stopped. How to explain this? “When Lord Voldemort,” Gottenram shuttered at the name. Harry began again. “When his followers took over Gringotts, this wand carrier’s father was given a position at Gringotts. I don’t know his name or the position,” Harry added reflectively. “Perhaps there are records here for that time…” Gottenram did not respond. It didn’t really matter. “When control was returned to the goblins,” Harry continued, “the wand carrier’s father was dismissed. Perhaps it was you who did it, or not. The Father apparently died sometime later leaving the family impoverished and destitute. Times were probably very hard for all those who supported the Dark Lord,” Harry added remembering.  
           “I care nothing about wand carrier past!” stated Gottenram coldly. “He is alive?”  
           “Yes,” confirmed Harry, “but knowing the past, it helps to understand why he chose you out of all the other goblins to do … what he did… He could not blame the father he loved for his decision to support the Dark Lord, so I think he blamed you and me for his father’s dismissal instead.” The diary also made it clear that Sir felt his family problems would have never happened had not the wizards bargained for Harry and his friends’ lives…  
           “Where is he?” persisted Gottenram.  
           “I will not tell you that,” answered Harry mindful of Ron’s prediction that once Gottenram learned the location of Sir, he would again call up the Bounty thus having kept his word and gotten his way at the same time. “But I will take you to see him….” Harry added before Gottenram could protest. “You, and you alone…” Harry was certain that Gottenram would be less likely to renew the Bounty once he actually saw Sir…

**********

          Gottenram stared a long time through the invisible window at the person who once was Sir. Harry Potter waited patiently.  
           Harry had passed word to Ginny that he would be delayed. Then he and Gottenam had waited until closing and then left Gringotts by one of those very private exits reserved for the discriminating patrons willing to pay extra. Harry would not give out the location and Gottenram would not use the taxi nor let Harry Apparate him so the two had walked, _walked_ all the way from Diagon Alley to St Mungo’s. It took a long time. Fortunately, it got darker as they walked so the Muggles who saw them in the twilight saw only what they expected, two people, one tall, one short, a boy maybe, as they passed. Gottenram’s gate was stiff and slow making Harry suspect it was more than pride that made him refuse the offer to Apparate. But Harry didn’t ask; their truce, such that it was, was too tenuous to withstand personal questions.  
           For the most part, they walked in silence. Harry judged it unsafe to discuss Sir in public and he could think of no other subject of conversation. Gottenram seemed content to walk without speaking. When they reached the hospital, Harry took Gottenram to the Muggle entrance of St. Mongo’s and led him to a window especially installed so one could observe the room on the other side but not be seen by the one within.  
           They arrived long after the evening meal. The room had been arranged as a nursery. The floor was padded and the walls had huge moving pictures of lights, flowers, and baby animals. The shelves were filled with toys and children’s books. Sir was seated on the floor contentedly playing with blocks. They were large blocks, better suited for adult hands. Sir would build a tower, knock it down and then build it again. Over and over he built that tower delighting again each time the blocks fell. A huge Himalayan cat with black points and blue eyes lay on the floor next to him. She flicked her tail lazily back and forth while he stacked. She was, Harry had been told, sort of a nanny cat and would let the nurses know if Sir was upset or in need.  
           “You expect me to believe that is he?” asked Gottenram disparagingly.  
           “Yes,” answered Harry simply. He knew it was a lot to buy. Sir’s hair had grown and was tied back in a proper wizard fashion, but he otherwise looked pretty much the same vacant-faced person Harry had seen the other times he had visited. Sir looked helpless and incapable of the crimes attributed to him. The blocks were new. Did that mean Sir’s mind was maturing?  
           “He doesn’t look as I remember him!” Gottenram protested.  
           “No,” agreed Harry.  
           “Nor behave…”  
           “He does not.”  
           “I would listen to him speak,” insisted Gottenram.  
           “He hasn’t spoken,” replied Harry calmly. “At least not proper words, or none that any has heard.” Harry knew that would be a problem with Gottenram as the goblin had recognized Sir by his voice. That was more than Harry, whose only encounter with Sir was when he was disguised as Vernon…  
           “So what proof do I have?”  
           “My word,” answered Harry hoping his word was good enough for something like this. Then he added, “She told me it is him and I believe her.” There was no need to explain who “she” was. Harry looked back as another stack of blocks scattered to the floor causing Sir to smile delightedly. “She worried that he would come back for her,” Harry added in a low voice while staring at Sir. Sir reached out and began to restack the blocks. “The idea consumed her day and night,” Harry continued. “So she and her friends set a trap, caught him and put on tattoos so she would recognize him no matter what disguise he used. Then they brought him here.” The stack, four blocks high and poorly balanced, tumbled to the floor. “She sleeps soundly now,” Harry added as Sir started rebuilding. “She says it is him,” repeated Harry. “She would not lie about this.”  
            A young wizard came into the room, one of the interns, “Time to go to bed, Mr. Henderson,” he told Sir. Harry and Gottenram watched as the wizard put the blocks away and helped Sir into pajamas. Then he got Sir into bed and tucked him in. The Himalayan cat jumped up and lay down besides Sir. Sir’s hand reached out and lay on the cat’s head and shoulders. “Would you like a story?” the Intern asked. Sir did not reply but the Intern pulled out a book and began to read anyway. Harry recognized the story as one from _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ Sir lay placidly until the intern finished. “Did you like that?” questioned the Intern. There was no answer and the Intern did not seem to expect one. “I’ll read you another story at bedtime tomorrow,” he continued conversationally. “But now it’s time to sleep. Good night, Mr. Henderson. Sleep tight.” The Intern extinguished all the candles except one in a corner and then left the room closing the door behind him.  
           Gottenram sort of shuttered and then said, “I cannot call a Blood Bounty on that!”  
           “No,” agreed Harry inwardly relieved at Gottenram’s words. “Nor I.” Harry absently wondered whether he should tell Ron his pessimistic prediction of goblins behavior had proven true in this instance. Probably not.  
           “I would mark him though,” continued Gottenram.  
           “Of course,” agreed Harry. “I’ll make arrangements for you to have some time with him. But it must be done in such a way that he has no knowledge of you or the significance what you have done.” Harry added.  
           “Oh?” Gottenram looked at Harry questioningly.  
           “He’s no memories of his past nor do we intend to tell him,” Harry added explaining. “There is a chance he could be released to start a new life…” Hopefully never, but the chance was still there. “I would not wish your hatred, our hatred, of him and his past actions to warp whatever chance he has at a new beginning…”  
           Gottenram turned this over in his mind. “Agreed,” he said finally. “But should he remember…”  
           “Should he remember?” Harry echoed softly. “There’ll be no place on earth where he can hide from me!” Harry promised grimly.  
           “You are a most unusual wand carrier,” replied Gottenram thoughtfully.  
           Harry nodded wordlessly. He knew the words served as sort of a goblin compliment. He looked again at Sir lying in his bed. Sir was still but Harry couldn’t tell if he had gone to sleep or not. “A tattoo?” Harry asked Gottenram curiously wondering what kind of arrangements needed to be made. Albus had written that Holly now had an intricate stylized cricket on the back of her hand. Harry longed to ask if Gottenram if Holly’s tattoo had magical properties in some way but didn’t knowing that as long as Holly was well and not bothered by the tattoo, it would be best to never mention it.  
           “No.” Gottenram’s lips curled in a sneer. “There is no Bounty, no need for his blood!”  
           “I, ah, wouldn’t recommend this,” Harry said softly while holding up his wrist. The silver band was invisible at the moment but they both knew what was there.  
           “Why?”  
           Abruptly a motion from within the nursery caught their attention. Harry and Gottenram turned to look. Sir’s hands reached out towards the baby’s ball on the nearby shelf. The shelf was out of reach but Sir reached anyway. As they watched, Sir’s arms thinned and stretched eventually touching the ball. They stretched more until the hands could touch either side of the ball.  
           “I’m not sure the band would stay on…” answered Harry dryly. Sir lifted the ball off the shelf, brought it over his chest. As the ball neared his body, Sir’s arms thickened and returned to normal size. He let go of the ball and it hovered above the chest. Sir used a normal looking hand and pressed one of the coloured buttons. The ball began to spin and Sir’s delighted smile could easily be seen illuminated by the flashing yellow light.  
           _“That answered that question,”_ thought Harry to himself. The interns had reported finding the baby’s ball hovering over Sir’s chest in the middle of the night but they weren’t sure whether Sir had gotten out of bed to get it or used some other means… Now Harry knew.  
           “You have a point,” answered Gottenram thoughtfully… “I’ll send word when I have something ready…”  
           “I’ll be waiting.”  
           Gottenram turned to leave. Harry opened the door for him and stood aside letting Gottenram move up the steps. Harry carefully closed and locked the door before following Gottenram up the stairs.  
           “I have something for you,” Harry said quietly when he reached the top of the steps. Gottenram turned and looked quizzically at Harry. Harry reached into his robe and pulled out a small black velvet bag and handed it to Gottenram. It was a bag Harry had carried with him every time he knew he’d be entering Gringotts on the off chance he’d see Gottenrram.  
           Gottenram frowned at the sight of the bag. “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.  
           “I don’t know,” Harry answered honestly. “Not exactly,” he corrected himself. “It’s from Holly,” Harry added as Gottenram opened the bag. Gottenram pulled out a small jar, the shape reminded Harry of a small old fashioned milk bottle. There was a big fat cork closing the mouth of the bottle further sealed with green wax. Harry would never pass on something to someone else without knowing the contents so he had a fairly good idea what was in it but not the exact specifics. Gottenram held the bottle up to the light and looked at the contents curiously. Harry looked with him. The jar was filled with translucent pills, each perfectly spiracle, no wider than his little finger, about the size of a blueberry. They came in vibrant gem-like colours: emerald green, ruby red, sapphire blue, topaz orange, onyx black, amethyst purple… They sparkled like jewels in the light. There was no label.  
           “What is it?” asked Gottenram.  
           “They’re called “pills,” answered Harry. “You’re supposed to eat one a day, no more than one; just one.” Holly had been very clear about that.  
           “Why?”  
           “Holly said it will “help.”  
           Holly had said more than that. “You’ve got to find a way to give this to him Cousin Harry,” Holly had pleaded. “You must! It’ll help, I know it will! But Gottenram is proud! If he thinks we’re taking pity on him he’ll never try it! That’s also why there’s no label—if anyone ever finds out, if he thought anyone would ever find out, he’d never, ever… There’s so much pride!”  
           Gottenram stiffened. “Help what?” he asked defensively.  
           “That, I do not know,” assured Harry willing all the sincerity he could into his voice while looking directly into Gottenram’s black eyes. “Only that it’ll “help.” Gottenram turned the jar slowly staring at the colourful pills. “She wants to make things right,” Harry added persuasively.  
           “That cannot be,” replied Gottenram coldly.  
           “I know,” agreed Harry, “but she’s trying…” Harry waited quietly a few minutes letting his words sink in. Then he added, “I promised to get it to you,” he told Gottenram. “After that, the decision is yours.” Harry turned and walked swiftly down the corridor stopping only when he reached the outside door. He opened the door and turned, waiting for Gottenram. After a moment, Gottenram appeared walking that slow stiff gait. The bottle was nowhere in sight. That was good. There was no easy place to discard the bottle within St. Mungo’s so hopefully Gottenram had placed it in a pocket. Harry stood aside for Gottenram to step outside and then stepped outside before carefully closing and locking the door. Without waiting, Gottenram started down the sidewalk at a slow steady pace.  
           Harry watched Gottenram take several steps. Then Harry had a sudden flash remembering another time when Gottenram had walked alone and terrible things had happened… He shuttered involuntarily. Harry swiftly caught up to Gottenram and matched his step.  
           Gottenram stopped. “You have done what you said. You can go.”  
            “No,” argued Harry. “It’s late and the streets are full of Muggle gangs that pray on the individual.” Harry had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good—better than “I don’t want a Blood Bounty called on me should something happen to you on the way back to Gringotts.” “It isn’t safe for either of us to walk alone,” he told Gottenram aloud, “and we’re both headed the same direction anyway…”  
           Gottenram stared at Harry for a full minute and Harry stared resolutely back. He would not risk the possibility of Gottenram getting injured out on the Muggle streets. Finally, Gottenram turned. “Walk where you wish,” he told Harry and resumed walking down the sidewalk. Harry continued alongside. Neither spoke. It was a long slow walk. Harry used the time to wonder what the pills did, why pills and not potion. Harry hoped they would indeed “help.”  
           The two were about a block from the Leaky Cauldron when a sudden movement within the shadows caused Harry to draw his wand. His grip relaxed when Griphook stepped into view. “There is a matter of some importance that you must address at Gringotts,” Griphook told Gottenram while totally ignoring Harry. Gottenram nodded and without another word stepped into the shadows with Griphook leaving Harry alone on the sidewalk.  
           “Not even a “thanks” or a “good-bye,” mused Harry to himself. “Why am I not surprised?” He sighed and, after checking to see that the street was empty, Apparated home.

**********

         A week later Mr. Henderson fingered two shiny new silver earrings, one larger than the other, fastened through his left earlobe. They were round and spun easily at the touch. The largest earring, the one on the bottom, had two dark glossy black stripes and the smaller one next to it had a single black stripe. The Intern openly admired the earrings and said they were the “latest in fashion.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

          Innkeep Dumbledore wordlessly picked up the coin on the table and set down a bottle of butterbeer with a loud t _hwunk._ Then he shuffled away.  
           Tomas Horatio Richards picked the bottle up and wiped it off with his not-too-clean sleeve. Then he took a long drink. And another. And another. In no time Tom had finished the contents of the bottle. Tom set the empty bottle down on the table next to the other empty bottles.  
           There were six empty bottles on the table. There would be many more on the table by the time Dumbledore would tell Tom to “get out” because he was “closing.” Usually Tom would stagger around the corner and collapse in the gutter for the rest of the night and return sometime in the morning for more butterbeer once the Hog’s Head reopened.  
           Tom pulled out another coin, set it on the table and waited knowing Dumbledore would return with a new bottle and exchange it for the coin. Tom hated the Hog’s Head—it was a filthy stinky place, but Paige had a room somewhere upstairs. Dumbledore wouldn’t let Tom go upstairs to find it or her. Dumbledore could be pretty forceful when he wanted to be. Tom figured if he waited long enough maybe he’d see Paige coming or going. It hadn’t happened yet, but maybe… Maybe she’d see him and come over to talk… After that, Tom had no idea what would happen or what to say.  
           It had all made perfect sense over the holidays, but now Tom couldn’t imagine how things had gotten so far or why the change in wedding plans had been so important to him... It didn’t seem so important now but Tom had no idea how to undo things. So Tom sat in the Hog’s Head, drank butterbeer and waited.  
           The front door opened. Tom looked in that direction. Two wizards walked in. Not Paige. He resumed his attention towards the landing in the hopes Paige would appear and come down the stairs. A few minutes later Tom sensed rather than saw the two wizards come near. He ignored them. Instead of passing by however, they sat down on the bench opposite Tom setting down their own bottles of butterbeer with loud _thwunks._ Tom looked at them and recognized the blurry figures of Matthew Kirkland and Sean Finnegan.  
           “Go ‘way!” Tom ordered as they set down a third bottle of butterbeer, obviously meant for him. They were no friends of his. The inn was nearly empty; there was no reason for them to sit here…  
           “Of course!” agreed Kirkland as he wiped off the mouth of his butterbeer bottle but he made no move to actually leave…  
           “How’re you doing?” questioned Finnegan as he wiped off his bottle of butterbeer too.  
           “Fine,” assured Tom. “Go ‘way!”  
           “If you insist,” agreed Finnegan and he took a drink from his bottle. He made no effort to move either.  
           “We just wanted to congratulate you for finally getting rid of Crowley!”  
           _“Huh?”_  
           “Talk about a load of unnecessary baggage!” added Kirkland.  
           “Yeah!” agreed Finnegan. “She was one cold prima donna! You’re way better off without her!”  
           That was what his family had said. Somehow it didn’t sound as good coming out of the mouths of a couple of Gryffindors.  
           “Crowley is such a “has-been,” continued Kirkland. “She probably only wanted to marry you because she wanted to change her last name—thought that would make people forget she was damaged material…”  
           Tom’s family had said that, too… “Ther’s nothin’ wrong wi’ Paige!” Tom slurred defensively.  
           “Of course not,” agreed Finnegan, “’Cept for the part Umbridge scrambled… Imagine having to ask other students what she did for the whole year ‘cause she couldn’t remember!” he added disdainfully. “How embarrassing was that?”  
           Tom stiffened at his words! How had Finnegan known that? They’d told the school it was baseline information for a memory enhancement potion!  
           “Yeah!” agreed Kirkland. “And then she accused Umbridge of casting the _Imperius_ Curse in a _lawsuit!”_  
           “You don’t turn on relatives, ever!” added Finnegan righteously. “Especially not in public! You think she’d have known better calling herself a Slytherin as she does.”  
           “Had to!” slurred Tom defensively. “Only way t’ defen’ hersel’!” One never turned on relatives, unless for self-preservation, or money! That was obvious!  
           “The ridicule you must have endured during the trial!” continued Kirkland sympathetically while ignoring Tom’s words. “Just think—you’d have been a business executive, top manager, making tons of galleons by now, if she hadn’t blown up Ercwlff last year!” he added.  
           “She didn’ do tha’!” Tom insisted.  
           “Of course you’d say that,” replied Kirkland, undeterred, “but we both know different! You are so much better off without her!”  
           “She must have had her claws into you pretty deep to make you stand by her during all that,” Finnegan concluded. “However did you finally manage to dump her?”  
           “I didn’ dump her!” Tom blurted.  
           “You didn’t?” questioned Finnegan with astonishment. “But that’s brilliant!” he exclaimed. “Making her think it was her idea! She’ll be too proud to run after you crying and begging forgiveness so you’re free of her forever! I didn’t think you had it in you!” Finnegan reached out and slapped Tom heavily on the back in approval. The blow knocked the air out of Tom’s lungs and he choked and gasped for breath. Without thinking, Tom reached out and grabbed the extra bottle of butterbeer on the table and took a drink. “What’d you tell her?” questioned Finnegan.  
           “Didn’ tell ‘er anythin’!” denied Tom automatically and took another drink. “I just wanted a Handfast Ceremony!”  
           “That’s it?” asked Finnegan in disbelief. “And she said “no?”  
           Tom nodded his head miserably and took another drink.  
           “Man! She had to be looking for excuses to dump you!” Finnegan exclaimed. “What an _eejit!_ You are _so_ lucky to be rid of her!”  
           “She is _not_ an eejit!” argued Tom rising angrily from his seat. Finnegan rose as well. “How _dare_ you call her that!” Tom added pulling out his wand. Whatever an “eejit” was, it couldn’t be good.  
           “Calm down, calm down,” said Kirkland while pulling both Finnegan and Tom back down to the table. “We’re all friends here,” he reminded the two, not that Tom was friends with either of them. “We don’t want to be kicked out or anything…” Tom put his wand away, sat back down reluctantly and took another drink. He did not want to be thrown out. Dumbledore had thrown Tom out once before for casting spells within the Hog’s Head and wouldn’t let him back in for a whole _week_!  
           “Are you saying she backed out because you wanted a Handfast Ceremony?” Kirkland questioned. “What kind of Handfast Ceremony?”  
           _“What kind?”_ “What do you mean? There is only one kind!” Tom retorted.  
           “A _traditional_ Handfast Ceremony? With all the pomp and vows?” persisted Kirkland with sudden interest.  
           “Of course!”  
           “How could you be so _stupid?”_  
           “How _dare_ you call me stupid!” exclaimed Tom rising angrily again and drawing his wand.  
           “Well if the name fits use it!” declared Kirkland firmly rising as well.  
           “Definitely an eejit—the both of them!” decided Finnegan aloud pulling Tom down again. “And he clearly doesn’t know Crowley as well as we thought he did,” he added to Kirkland, who sat as well.  
           “What do you mean?” said Tom defensively. “Of course I know my girl!”  
           “Uh, Crowley’s an, ah, _modern_ sort of girl,” began Finnegan explaining. “She’s not the kind to go for all that traditional sort of stuff!”  
           “She’s _Slytherin!”_ argued Tom stubbornly. “We take pride in our ancestry! Or should!”  
           “But a wedding’s supposed to be her day!” persisted Finnegan, “Why would she ever want to do something so … _old fashioned?”_  
           “Because it’s _traditional!”_  
           “And you told her that, of course?” asked Finnegan.  
           “No. I told her we were to be Handfasted and she left!”  
           “Just left? No explanation or anything?” questioned Kirkland with interest.  
           “The message was pretty clear,” replied Tom bluntly.  
           “I guess it was,” agreed Kirkland. “Uh, we’ve got to be going, got things to do and, uh, talk about…” he added abruptly standing up. “Come-on,” he added to Finnegan, who also rose. “Congrats again,” he said as they slid out of their chairs.  
           “Yeah,” said Tom glumly. He finished the bottle of butterbeer, set it loudly on the table and slumped down in his chair. In the corner of his eye, Tom saw Kirkland and Finnegan had halted a few meters away and were whispering to each other. _“Let them!”_ thought Tom fiercely. _“I don’t need their praise or sympathy!”_ Then Tom noted Dumbledore hadn’t yet taken his coin, so he slid it forward to the edge of the table to gain Dumbledore’s attention.  
           Abruptly Finnegan returned. “If you really want Crowley back,” he began while sliding back into his seat. “Just give her some flowers…”  
           “And something green, like poison ivy,” put in Kirkland cheerfully while sitting down next to Finnegan.  
           “No, not poison ivy,” corrected Finnegan good naturedly, “but something nice and tell her you don’t want to be Handfasted! The way she’s been mooning after you, I’m sure she’ll agree.”  
           _“Mooning after me?”_ thought Tom suddenly hopeful. “No,” he said aloud, “She doesn’t love me the way I do her if she won’t agree to Handfasting…”  
           “You expect her to love you to death?” asked Finnegan in a serious tone.  
           _“Huh?”_  
           “She’s an,” Kirkland looked about and then leaned in close to Tom and placed his lips near Tom’s ear and whispered. “… an _auror!”_  
           “What?”  
           “An auror!” repeated Finnegan leaning up close and whispering as well. “Took her vows last year!” he added.  
           “Tha’s impossible!” stated Tom automatically.  
           “Why?” countered Kirkland. “Think she’s too stupid?”  
           “No.” replied Tom promptly. No one was smarter than his Paige. “But she’d have told me!” he protested, “and no Slytherin would ever—”  
           “That you _know_ of!” put in Kirkland. “There’s a reason why auror names are kept secret! That Handfast Ceremony,” he continued. “I don’t know what it involves, but I’m fairly certain it comes in conflict with the auror vows. It would kill her to do that ceremony!”  
           _“Kill_ her?” echoed Tom in disbelief. “But, wait a minute—how do you know?”  
            Kirkland looked about again and then leaned in close again. “Cause we’re _aurors_ too!” he admitted in a whisper. “You can’t tell anyone,” he added while still whispering, “but who do you think provided the proof that Crowley’s testimony under _veritaserum_ was false?”  
           “We, uh,” began Tom  
           “Sure, _you_ interviewed students for their memories but _we_ rounded up students with memories that conflicted with Crowley’s testimony and got them to repeat it under oath and gave their statements to Pilkington for the trial!” put in Kirkland.  
           “And we talked to all the students and professors who _didn’t_ talk to you and Crowley, too!” added Finnegan. “And got _their_ testimonies too!”  
           “Listen,” continued Kirkland in a conspiratorial whisper. “You can’t tell anyone you know Crowley’s an auror or that we told you about her, not even Crowley! It’s supposed to be a secret! If Crowley hasn’t told you herself, she probably has a good reason so you can’t let on you know otherwise—about her or us! You understand?”  
           “Uh, yeah,” replied Tom and felt a surge of excitement—a _secret!_ Something he could use _and_ keep! “You can count on me! Wait a minute—why _have_ you told me?”  
           “Told ya already! Can’t have an auror mooning about all the time—interferes with work! Well, got to go! Good luck!” Kirkland rapidly slid out of the chair and Finnegan followed. The two swiftly left the Hog’s Head leaving Tom again alone in his seat.  
           Dumbledore came by. He picked up the coin and placed a new bottle of butterbeer on the table. Tom did not pick it up. Instead, he stared at its grimey exterior and let new thoughts swirl through his head. Was it possible Paige was an auror?  
           They could be lying, but to what end? Tom could think of no reason why such a lie would benefit them. At least there was a plausible reason for them telling the truth, if it was the truth… Was Paige mooning? Was there a chance they could get back together? Tom wanted to believe that desperately which meant maybe believing their story as well. _Could_ Paige be an auror? Why wouldn’t she have told him?  
           But if Paige _were_ an auror, that shed new light on previous events and explained things much better—Paige had sent him to the Ministry to report she had been assaulted and had encountered Sir last spring. The Ministry had given him the usual disrespectful disinterest until Tom had bullied his way through to Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement. Thomas had gotten instantly alert when Tom had given him Paige’s message… Thomas _should_ have—but usually Gryffindors were denser than that. But if Paige had been an auror in his employment… That speedy action made much more sense!  
           And Thomas had readily believed Paige when she said she didn’t blow up Wizard Ercwlff’s shop. Of course she hadn’t done it, and he should have believed her, but knowing she was an auror would have made it easier for him to believe…  
           And that time at Potter’s! Potter should have called in the aurors the minute they opened the old potions room but instead he let Paige clean it out—Paige said Potter was probably too embarrassed about the situation to inform the officials… That didn’t fit with Potter’s straight-forward character and friendship with Thomas. It made more sense if Potter already knew she was an auror and considered her _qualified_ to clean it out!  
           Then there was the Ball! Tom didn’t remember much of that night, but he did remember the pride he had felt when he realized Paige had been deeply involved in the recovery afterwards and the respect and deference both Potter and Thomas had given Paige… Tom had been upset Rita Skeeter hadn’t mentioned Paige’s name afterwards in the _Prophet;_ Paige had said she didn’t want her name connected with bad publicity but publicity was publicity—unless one was an auror…  
           Would a Handfast Ceremony really have killed her? Maybe. It was a form of an unbreakable vow and if Paige had already taken one… Was that all that kept them apart? There was only one way to find out. But he’d have to clean himself up first, and then figure out a way to back down without appearing to back down…

**********

           “Is Crowley really mooning about Richards?” asked Matthew Kirkland as they walked away from the Hog’s Head.  
           “Who knows!” replied Sean cheerfully. “She’s not talking and she’s not dating anyone else! We made inquiries everywhere and learned nothing,” he reminded Matthew. “Can’t prove otherwise so maybe she is pining for him!”  
           “But did we do the right thing telling him about her being an auror?” Matthew asked worriedly.  
           “Don’t know that either, but Richards still has it bad for Crowley and it is _not_ a good idea to go through a Handfast Ceremony after taking your vows. So if that’s the only thing keeping them apart then he deserves to know.”  
           “Will he tell her we told?”  
           “And admit a _Gryffindor_ got them back together if this works? Never!” Finnegan laughed. Matthew laughed with him in agreement. They turned the corner and headed towards the Three Broomsticks where Ravindra was waiting to hear their report.

**********

           “Professor,” began Holly Wycliff as she reset the scented plumeria hair clip on her left side, “do you know how to find the centaurs?”  
           Neville Longbottom stopped stacking pots and regarded Holly thoughtfully. “Why?” he asked. “ _More interestingly, why now?”_  
           “I asked Professor Firenze and he said to ask you,” continued Holly, which hadn’t answered Neville’s question at all.  
           “Why do you want to find them?” clarified Neville. The centaurs weren’t exactly off limits to students but where they lived was.  
           “I have something to give to one of them…” Holly answered vaguely while fingering the beads on her bracelet.  
           “Indeed,” murmured Neville thoughtfully. _“How had that happened?”_ Holly was full of surprises.  
           “Well, they’re kind of hard to locate,” Neville told her carefully. “They don’t stay in one place very long…”  
           “I know,” acknowledged Holly, “but it’s important…”  
           “Hmm.” Knowing Holly, she would go out on her own to find the centaurs, whether or not he helped. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t safe for her to be out there these days… Not that it ever was safe, but it was more unsafe now than ever before. “Tell you what,” Neville said aloud. “Professor Lovegood and I are heading into the woods in that direction on Saturday. There’s a good chance we’ll encounter some centaurs along the way. Perhaps you’d like to accompany us…” That was probably why Firenze had referred Holly to him in the first place. Firenze knew Neville and Luna would be going to the area Holly wanted to visit. He also knew they wouldn’t need to “find” the centaurs; the centaurs would most certainly “find” them!  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Holly happily. “What time?”  
           “Six am,” Neville answered. “We’ll leave from here.”

**********

           “So why are you going into the woods today?” questioned Holly as they stepped through the underbrush.  
           “We are going to look at a spring,” answered Luna serenely.  
           “It’s contaminated, isn’t it?” stated Holly.  
           “What makes you think that?” questioned Luna.  
           “They said it was fouled,” replied Holly simply.  
           “When was that?” questioned Neville Longbottom aloud. Only that week Headmistress McGonagall had received a notice from the Ministry stating that the centaur water contained traces of cicutoxin and requested the school take steps immediately to remedy the situation. While appreciative of the information, the Headmistress had been mystified as to how the Ministry learned of something like that in the first place. Neville now suspected Holly had something to do with the initial notification.  
           “A while ago,” answered Holly vaguely. “I sent a sample of their water to Miss Crowley and asked her to look into it…”  
That answered McGonagall’s question of how the Ministry found out. Neville knew Paige had been an auror student before all her difficulties. He didn’t know whether she had actually taken auror vows (that information was never released) but it was easy enough to guess that she had forwarded the results of her investigation to the Ministry when the information had proved serious.  
           “That was very thoughtful of you,” approved Luna. “Did Miss Crowley send you an answer?”  
           “Not really,” answered Holly. “Just a huge bottle of potion. It’s called _Cólica._ There’s directions that say: “One spoonful a day until symptoms disappear.” It doesn’t say so but I know she means for the centaurs to take it…”  
           _“Cólica,”_ mused Neville silently. _“That’s Gallic for Colic—digestive problems. That fit with the symptoms of cicutoxin…”_  
           McGonagall had turned the problem over to Luna as the Defense against the Dark Arts professor explaining she thought some dark magic of some sort was involved. Neville wasn’t sure why Luna had turned to him for assistance instead of Firenze or Madam Pomfrey until he had looked up possible sources of cicutoxin. Cicutoxins came from the cicuta plant more commonly known as water hemlock. The plant was rather toxic and various parts were used in small quantities in upper level potion classes. It wasn’t anything he had students grow in Herbology as it required no special knowledge or instruction to grow and was only marginally needed for the potions regularly brewed in class. At most, the plant had been included in identification questions in first and second year classes at the beginning of the school year.  
           “That sounds like a useful potion,” commented Luna aloud, “if one knows the symptoms…”  
           “Oh, Paige did,” assured Holly confidently. “I included that in my note…”  
           “It is fortunate the centaurs were forthcoming with that information,” observed Neville. He’d always had the impression they were a stand-uppish kind of lot.  
           “Yes, sir,” replied Holly. “Um, they actually didn’t say much of anything,” she confessed suddenly, as a faint tinge of red crept up her cheeks. “Not out loud,” she added explaining. “Don’t tell anyone,” Holly continued in a confidential rush, “but centaurs aren’t very good at Occlumency, at least not when they’re hurting. It was faint and definitely not good. I figured it was all results of the water. I sent Paige a list of all the symptoms I was feeling while we spoke with them. Then Mark got them to give us a sample of the water to analyze; I think we got that only because Celestae insisted…”  
           “Celestae?”  
           “Yes, Professor Firenze’s niece. She seemed to think water problems were beneath their concerns and something more suitable for us to handle…”  
           “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered,” replied Neville dryly.  
           “It does not matter,” observed Luna in her usual calm voice, “as long as we achieve our objective...”  
           “True,” grumbled Neville. “Did the centaurs happen to say when they started feeling sick?” he asked changing the subject.  
           “Um, I think she said since Pegasus flew the skies,” Holly answered.  
           “Pegasus?” questioned Neville. What the heck?  
           “The Pegasus constellation,” murmured Luna softly. “It rises in the autumn,” she added. Luna was good that way. She could understand and translate centaur talk much better than Neville.  
           “Autumn?” questioned Neville in surprise. That was back in at the beginning of the school year.  
           “I guess so,” confirmed Holly. “Is that important?”  
           “I don’t know,” confessed Neville. “I just assumed it all happened after the holidays not before…” Cicuta plant parts were easily available in apothecary shops in both Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Neville had just assumed the culprits had brought back some after the holidays and used it to poison the water. It changed things somehow to think the contamination had been going on much longer than that but he wasn’t sure how.  
           They continued walking in relative silence for about half an hour when Holly brought up another question. “Why aren’t we flying?” she asked. “I’m not complaining, you understand,” Holly added hastily, “because the last time I flew I fell off—but I’m sure we would get there a lot faster if we flew…”  
           “Uh, it seems that flying wizards appear rather threatening,” replied Neville. He and Luna had consulted Firenze on the best way to get to the spring while causing the least amount of offense…  
           “The centaurs were rather rude to Hagrid,” added Luna vaguely. When she had first received word of the cicutoxin, McGonagall had asked Hagrid to visit the spring. He had seen nothing amiss but then hadn’t had much opportunity to look closely before being turned away by some very angry centaurs who threatened certain injury should he return.  
            It was tempting come in force armed to the teeth but McGonagall did not want to start a war over cleaning up a spring and Firenze insisted a small group would have a better chance of success…  
            Neville ignored the tiny meadows and bright spring flowers of pink, yellow, white and purple that they passed while they walked and instead considered how the timing made a difference in the situation, if any. Outside defenses were still in place last fall and had had been since Umbridge. Extra security during games to insure no visitor remained behind had all been in force then too. So Neville was fairly certain no outsider had tainted the water.  
            They assumed a Slytherin student managed to foul the water. That assumption remained as well. The Slytherins had been particularly nasty all year, mostly petty stuff, and fouling a spring fit with their other activities then and now. Neville well remembered how a greenhouse break-in had forced him to devise new security spells to protect his plants. Some unnamed student(s) had destroyed all the new Mandrake roots and then spread his _Forever Grow Fertilizer_ in the schoolyard. The resulting growth spurt turned the yard into a veritable jungle cancelling all outdoors classes until the snap dragons, coral bells, fire bells, tickle plant and fly traps were again manageable sizes.  
           What differed between Fall and Spring was the level of ability. Slytherin performance in charms, transfiguration and spell casting had made dramatic improvements since the holidays. Surely the centaurs would have removed anything unusual or toxic had they noted it. Hagrid had seen nothing obviously out of place either so Luna and Neville had come prepared with numerous revealing spells designed to locate otherwise hidden magical or transfigured items that could be creating the toxins.  
           _“The timing could point to the perpetrator!”_ Neville thought with sudden excitement. How many students were capable of this kind of spellwork last autumn?

**********

           “They’re watching,” Holly suddenly announced in a low voice as they walked.  
           Neville Longbottom looked about. He saw no one but the woods were unusually quiet and no birds chirped. He’d heard Holly was good at sensing things unseen; this was the first time he’d actually witnessed it.  
           “How many?” questioned Luna.  
           “Two, no, one,” answered Holly as she tugged anxiously at her beaded braid.  
           “One has gone to tell the others,” decided Neville aloud. Neville was tempted to ask “how far away?” but didn’t. The answer didn’t matter and he knew Holly was sensitive about her empathic skills. The three continued walking forward. It was useful having advance notice of the centaurs but it didn’t change their mission.  
The trio stepped into a small meadow filled with wildflowers. There was a large oak tree on the far side. It was a spectacular tree, hundreds of years old with a huge thick trunk, thick branches spreading out in all directions and beautiful new yellow green leaves glowing in the sunlight. The oak had been untouched by lizard spit and was the tree of every forest imagination.  
           Holly abruptly stopped before they reached the tree. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered while staring intently at the tree.  
           “What is it?” Neville questioned as he drew his wand.  
           Holly shook her head and didn’t answer. She hadn’t drawn her wand but instead tugged at her braid while staring at the tree as if it were more than leaves and branches. That was always a possibility, bow truckles and other creatures liked to hide out in trees…  
           “The spring is just beyond the tree,” said Luna softly as she drew her own wand.  
           “Stay close behind us,” Neville instructed protectively to Holly while moving his large body in front of hers to act as a shield. He’d heard Holly was rather good with a wand, but had never actually seen her in action. Word of Holly’s duel against the Slytherins spread around the school _after_ Sasha had been rescued and returned. Neville stepped cautiously forward. Luna moved up with him.  
           Abruptly Neville found himself facing a row of centaurs all armed with bows filled with arrows pointed directly at them! He hadn’t seen them in the woods before, hadn’t heard them step forward yet there they were! He froze. There were seven male centaurs lined up in a semi circle in front of them. Neville stared at the seven in disbelief. They looked like no centaurs he had ever imagined. Green, black, brown and tan markings covered their bodies from head to hoof. The colouring was clearly designed to help them blend in with the surrounding area. Their faces were grim and all held their arrows firmly pointed in Neville’s direction. Neville had no doubt there were more centaurs hidden in the woods all around them.  
           “We told Hagrid to never return or he would regret it!” exclaimed the center centaur with open hatred.  
           “Hagrid has not returned,” replied Luna in a calm voice.  
           “We have business to do that is more important than arrows,” added Neville though leaving seemed like a very good idea in the face of those arrows. With great difficulty Neville put his wand away and held up his hands making it clear he was not there to fight. Luna put her wand away as well.  
           “You burn!” exclaimed Holly abruptly while pushing between Neville and Luna stepping up to face the centaurs. She seemed totally oblivious of the wall of arrows in front of her. “Your legs—they’re on fire!” she added bluntly. Were they? Their grim expressions showed nothing of pain. “And your arms!” Holly added. “Your whole bodies! I got the symptoms wrong!” Holly sounded extremely upset.  
           _“What?”_ thought Neville. _“Oh, yes, her potion!”_ Neville had forgotten all about the potion Holly had brought along intending to help the centaurs.  
           “Does the mud help?” questioned Luna in a concerned voice.  
           Mud? Neville looked again. Yes, there was mud covering their bodies as part of the camouflage. Was it there for other reasons as well? What was the symptom Holly had mentioned? Arms and legs on fire? “No!” Neville said aloud. You didn’t get the symptoms wrong,” he told her. “There’s just some new ones added to the mix.”  
           Neville walked deliberately forward until he was face to face with the center centaur. Well, not exactly face to face. Neville was tall but not _that_ tall. It was more nose to point with his arrow. Neville looked up from the arrow into the angry eyes of the centaur—that was the only part not covered by mud, leaves or paint. “We’re here to clean out a spring,” he told the centaur. “You can help or not,” Neville added, “but don’t try to stop us!” Then he waited. Were there painful rashes beneath the mud? Neville didn’t ask; Holly’s word was good enough for him, especially with all the other information.  
           “Well?” he demanded. Slowly, the arrow moved away from Neville’s head. Neville took that for consent. Without a word Neville moved resolutely past the centaurs; he heard Luna and Holly following behind. They continued walking stopping when they reached the edge of an area covered with tall green plants, each carrying several umbrella-like clusters of tiny white flowers.  
           _“Jes’ a few more flowers than usual,” Hagrid had told them._  
           Neville should have realized that Hagrid’s idea of “few” was an understatement. Assuming this was the location of the spring, no spring could be seen; it was buried under plants—no doubt helped along by _Forever Grow Fertilizer!_  
           “Look at them!” exclaimed Holly. She stepped forward and reached a hand towards the plants clogging the spring.  
           “No!” exclaimed Neville as he swiftly grabbed her wrist and pulled Holly back. “Don’t touch them!”  
           “Star clusters!” came an unseen feminine voice. Celestae?  
           “Not these,” assured Neville while having no idea what plants the centaurs called star clusters. “Heracleum mantegazzianum,” he announced aloud. “Also called cartwheel-flower or hogsbane. Its sap can cause horrible blisters.” Hopefully Madam Pomfrey had some ointments that could help now that he knew what the problem was. If not, he was sure they could get something from Healer Winonan…  
           “It looks like Bishop’s lace!” commented Luna softly.  
          “But it’s not,” said Neville confidently. “Daucus carota or wild carrot, is much shorter, growing at most a meter tall, blooms in the fall, and prefers a less marshy area. Also, there’s a purple dot in the center of the Bishop’s lace.” Neville reached into his bag and pulled out some thick gloves. He handed one set to Luna, a second set to Holly and put the third set on his own hands. “We’re going to have to remove every single plant,” he told the others as he dumped out everything else in the bag and handed it to Holly. Using his wand he swiftly performed the bubble-headed charm. The charm was intended for air purification, but the bubble shape was strong enough to protect his head from the plant’s touch.  
           “But the nausea?” Holly protested while she put on the gloves. “Dizziness, stomach pains and weakness?”  
           “That’s from this plant,” answered Neville reaching into the forest of greenery. He pulled up a second shorter, but similar looking plant, also bearing an umbrella-style cluster of small white flowers on the top. The ground was soft and mushy. The plant came up easily, roots and all. “This one’s cituca, commonly called water hemlock. It’s deadly to Muggles. They often confuse it with daucus carota. “Open up that bag,” he instructed Holly after Luna had cast a bubble headed charm over Holly’s head. Holly immediately complied. “Every plant we pull needs to go into the bag,” Neville said as he pushed the plant, roots and all, into the bag. The bag was extendable. “We’ll destroy them later.”  
           “We do not eat star clusters,” came the same female centaur’s voice, but closer this time. Neville looked up and saw a more youthful centaur, also covered from head to hoof in mud and paint, step forward.  
           “You don’t have to,” he answered. Never mind that the plant wasn’t the star clusters the centaurs were probably thinking of. “The sap of this plant could be enough to make all the water unsafe to drink…”  
           “Nor do we foul our own water with plant sap.”  
           “Not deliberately,” countered Neville. He reached again into the thicket of greenery and pulled out another cituca plant, one with no flower and a crushed stem. “But one of these trampled by unknowing hooves and left by the water’s edge can be just as devastating.”  
           “Here!” said Holly eagerly. She set Neville’s bag down and reached into her own bag. “I got this for you,” Holly said while pulling out a huge potion bottle. “It should help!” Holly added confidently while holding the bottle up to the centaur. “The directions say one spoonful a day until you feel better. Look!” Holly added eagerly. Holly worked off the cork and tapped it against the mouth of the bottle. “See! There’s your spoon. Try it please? It’ll help! I promise!”  
           The centaur stared at the bottle suspiciously.  
           “Young foals cannot properly appreciate the wonders of the night sky if they are blinded by pain,” added Luna gently.  
           The centaur slowly held out her hand. Holly eagerly tapped the spoon against the bottle’s edge turning it back into a cork, stoppered the bottle and brought the bottle to the centaur. Then the centaur saw the label. _“Cólica?”_ she stated without taking the bottle. _“Cólica?”_ she repeated with growing anger. “You think we have _colic?”_  
           “No!” exclaimed Holly with obvious confusion, “I mean—I don’t know…”  
           _“Cólica_ literally means stomach disorders,” murmured Luna soothingly. “That could be anything.”  
           “The symptoms of cicutoxin poisoning include nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain, confusion, weakness, dizziness and drowsiness,” added Neville. “That sound like colic?” Neville didn’t wait for an answer. “If it’s not taken care of,” he continued, “the victim may experience seizures and death.” He was glad he had taken the time to memorize everything he had on cicutoxin when he looked it up.  
           “Please accept my apologies,” begged Holly with a trembling lip. “I’m sure no offense was intended by the name…”  
           Neville wasn’t so sure. Knowing Paige, if she knew it was going to centaurs, she may have deliberately selected a name she thought could offend…  
           “Pride is not a virtue of the stars,” added Luna softly.  
           “Please?” begged Holly while holding the bottle up within reach.  
           The centaur stared at it and Holly for a long time before reaching out and taking the bottle. “For the foals,” she said and walked away. Neville hoped the stuff worked.  
           “Let’s get back to work!” he instructed while ignoring the other centaurs standing around watching and went back to pulling plants. Luna and Holly pitched in as well.  
           “There’s an awful lot of these plants,” said Holly while they worked. “Can’t we just burn them here?”  
           “No,” decided Neville aloud while reaching for the nearest stem of heracleum mantegazzianum. Its size was huge, nearly a meter taller than him. “They’re all toxic and probably made more potent than normal by the Fertilizer. You don’t want any of this stuff in the air.  
           “Who did this?” asked a centaur who drew near. The centaurs had neither helped nor hindered while the three worked cleaning out the spring. They had been all around, though, watching.  
           “I don’t know,” answered Neville honestly. It could have been easily done, though. Too easy. Unfortunately, it would be difficult if not impossible to track down the culprit(s.) The seeds for both plants were in the potions supplies for N.E.W.T.S. level classes. They were supposed to be spelled against accidental germination but Neville didn’t know how well the spells would hold up against his Forever Fertilizer. An upper level student could have taken some extra seeds or a lower lever one could have slipped into the potions room and stolen them. Professor Slughorn supposedly had extra protection installed after Umbridge but Neville was certain that any protection devised could be bypassed by determined students. In addition, the student(s) involved in the break-in of the greenhouse could have set aside some of the fertilizer for other purposes… Drop the seeds, fertilize and walk away. It could have been a team action or the work of one… When this was all over, Neville intended to get together with Luna and Professor Slughorn and work up some new security features to keep it from happening again.  
           “Nor would you tell us if you did,” stated another centaur moving close.  
           “No,” agreed Neville. It was a Hogwarts problem. “I probably wouldn’t. But then, I suspect, neither would you, were the situation reversed,” he told the centaur. Neville reached into the bag and pulled out one of the flowers. “Star clusters,” he began making an attempt to speak “centaur,” “are a _good_ omen in the sun with Pegasus rising, but _not_ in the shade and water with Cancer.” He hoped he got that constellation right. Would his words sufficiently explain the differences between the harmless daucus carota and these other flowers? “If you see other plants that are out of their proper place and season, send word immediately.” Would they? He hoped so. The thought that there could be more unacceptable plants growing in unexpected places was most disquieting.  
           It wasn’t until late afternoon that the spring finally flowed free of plant obstruction. “That’s it for today,” declared Neville aloud. “I’ll be returning next week to make sure nothing new has grown…” he told the centaurs.  
           “Miss Wycliff and I will be returning tomorrow with something for the burns,” promised Luna. Holly nodded immediately in agreement.  
           “Um, good-bye!” added Holly brightly. “See you later…”

 


	36. Chapter 36

          “Have you given any thought about what career you would like to pursue?” asked Professor Erlinda Iverson. All fifth year students had mandatory career counseling. It had been a fairly easy task. Erlinda always encouraged students, even those with low scores, to stay in school. Even though the Hufflepuffs had their own scholarship program for students in need, finances at home were often a concern and could be the determining factor in whether or not a student remained in school. Some students had their careers set long before attending Hogwarts and intended to continue on in the family business once they left Hogwarts. Other students who could continue chose not to as they did not see the value of an education when placed against a promising paying job opportunity or a pressing need in the family business.  
           Erlinda had already met with all the fifth year Hufflepuffs except Holly Wycliff. Holly had fairly good scores in some areas, was not involved in a family business and had no formal career already mapped out for her. Mr. Potter had given every indication he would finance her stay at Hogwarts as long as she wished to attend.  
           “Um, no, not really,” confessed Holly looking guiltily down. Her single braid swung forward and partially covered her face with the rest of her hair.  
           Erlinda was not surprised. She knew Holly had spent the last few days going back and forth to the Centaur Spring bringing a variety of potions to try to help heal the burns the centaurs had. Career plans were probably not high on Holly’s list of things to do or worry about.  
           “That’s O.K.,” replied Erlinda calmly. “Deciding on career is not easy. It can’t be done on overnight. Many students never decide,” she added. “Some just take every N.E.W.T. class they are qualified to take and see what comes along…” It was an easy route. Most N.E.W.T. classes required an “Exceeds Expectations” or better to continue. Most Hufflepuffs averaged “Acceptable” scores. That limited the choices and possible careers. “It’s always better, of course, to have a possible career in mind to work for,” Erlinda added. “I know you have been working with Healer Winonan to refine your empathic skills, and I understand you’ve done a marvelous job helping out the centaur community. Perhaps you’d consider a career in healing…” Empaths were a natural for a healing career. The Hufflepuff leaders were privately hopeful that Holly would train as a Healer. Good diagnostic Healers were rare and would help everyone.  
           “Oh, no!” exclaimed Holly emphatically. “I would never, ever, I could never work at St. Mungo’s.”  
           “Oh?” Erlinda raised an eyebrow at the response.  
           “Not while…” Holly looked about anxiously to see if anyone was listening, _“he’s_ there!” Holly explained in a whisper while she twisted her beaded bracelet back and forth anxiously.  
           _“He?”_ wondered Erlinda. _“Oh, Sir!”_ As one of the leaders of the Hufflepuff community, Erlinda knew exactly what had been done to resolve Holly’s problem with Sir. She also possessed a small bottle of Sir’s tattoo ink, just in case… Erlinda had visited Mr. Henderson over the holidays and viewed his tattoos for future reference. Mr. Henderson’s mental capacity appeared the equivalent of an infant or a toddler. It was hard to believe the childlike creature she had seen had been responsible for so much terror.  
           “You don’t have to work at St. Mungo’s to be a Healer,” informed Erlinda distressed that, even now, Sir controlled Holly’s action. Maybe they could move Sir to some other location…  
           “But the internships!” Holly exclaimed revealing she had already looked into healing as a possible career. “I don’t want to, can’t be anywhere near –”  
           “There are other hospitals besides St. Mungo’s where you can complete your internship,” assured Erlinda though she knew Healer Winonan would be disappointed if any Healer other than himself would get that honour. “I believe there’s a very nice one in France you could visit—right next to the Beaubaxton Academy…”  
          “France?” exclaimed Holly. “Oh, no I could never, father would never—” She again began to violently twist her bracelet.  
          “But internships are not for several years yet,” reminded Erlinda quickly before Holly could refuse out loud. She knew from experience that it was more difficult to change a student’s mind once a refusal had been openly voiced. “Perhaps you should just concentrate on being the best student possible for now. Your scores in Transfiguration, Potions and Charms more than qualify you to continue on in N.E.W.T. level classes as do your scores in the Defense Against the Dark Arts.” Erlinda always encouraged students to continue in the areas in which they excelled and stay in school as long as possible. It was unusual for Hufflepuff students to score well in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but then, not every Hufflepuff regularly trained with the aurors and had to learn upper level skills such as Apparating and Occlumency for her own personal protection. “You might want to take Occlumency next year too,” Erlinda added aloud. “If you can pass the test, that puts you in an excellent position to obtain a Ministry position…”  
           “The Ministry?” Holly looked surprised. “Do you think I could, uh, maybe become, uh, an auror?” she asked hesitantly.  
           “I don’t know,” answered Erlinda honestly. She remembered the pride she had felt when Roland decided he wanted to become an auror. It was not an easy career choice, very difficult and dangerous! But Roland’s overall scores were much higher than Holly’s. “It wouldn’t be easy, but if that’s what you want,” Erlanda told Holly, “we’ll do our best to help you.” Erlinda would never discourage a student’s aspirations. But Holly didn’t look very happy at the prospect of being an auror. Was it really what she wanted? “I thought you wanted nothing to do with dark wizards,” Erlinda stated aloud. “Why would you choose that as a career?”  
           “Oh, it’s not the wizard hunting,” Holly began uncertainly, “I could never do that. It’s just that they don’t have to worry about dark wizards so much…”  
           _“Don’t have to worry? What on earth? They worried about Dark Wizards every day! Why would Holly think otherwise?”_ Erlinda puzzled over Holly’s words. “I don’t understand,” she finally said aloud…  
           “It’s just that they take this vow so they can’t become dark wizards…” explained Holly.  
           “They do?’ asked Erlinda blankly. If only it was that simple.  
           “Yeah! And if they do anything that comes in conflict with that vow…”  
           “They die,” whispered Erlinda.  
           “But they don’t become _dark_ wizards!” asserted Holly confidently. “Maybe they’d leave me alone if they knew I couldn’t become dark…”  
           _“Oh, Holly!”_ thought Erlinda in despair. _“You live in so much fear… What can we do to help? Support and honesty.”_ “You need to read the vows for yourself Miss Wycliff,” Erlinda said aloud. “I don’t think they would help as you wish. Sir was most definitely a Dark Wizard and what he did you was horrendous, but that which _you_ did for him was _not_ Dark!”  
           Holly looked up at Erlinda in surprise, her green eyes were brimming with tears.  
           “There is no law against sensing the emotions of others,” Erlinda began explaining. “Nor is there any law against revealing the emotions you sense to others. And there are no legal guideline on how such information may or may-not be used. So I fear that none of what you did at Sir’s insistence would have come in conflict with auror vows. In addition, I suspect the thought that he was forcing an _auror_ to do his bidding would have given Sir, or any dark wizard, considerable pleasure.” Holly’s crestfallen look was heartrending.  
            “Perhaps you could write your own set of unbreakable vows that address your concerns,” suggested Erlinda gently. “We’ll help, of course, if that’s what you really want,” she offered but Erlinda doubted any unbreakable vow could cover every possible situation that worried Holly. “Maybe there are other non-revealing spells you could use instead…” she suggested. “In fact, have you discussed this with Mr. Potter?”  
           “Cousin Harry? Why?”  
           “Mr. Potter has been the source of considerable mystery ever since the death of Lord Voldemort,” Erlinda told Holly. “He and his friends have never provided any details concerning that last year when the Ministry sought him as a Person of Interest in the death of Albus Dumbledore. It is known they broke into the Ministry and out of Gringotts but not much else and definitely not _why._ Did you know Ms. Skeeter has a standing offer of 1,000 galleons for any inside information?” Holly shook her head. “I can’t help but think that Mr. Potter and his friends have been the target of numerous spells and potions to loosen their tongues throughout the years and yet no one has stepped forward to claim that reward. I’m guessing that maybe Mr. Potter has a few spells of his own to help keep that silence...”  
           “Maybe he does,” whispered Holly hopefully.  
           “And as for career plans,” continued Erlinda smoothly. “Why don’t we wait on that until after you’ve had a chance to consult Mr. Potter…”  
           “O.K.”  
           “Don’t worry, Miss Wycliff,” Erlinda assured Holly. “Everything will turn out just fine.” She hoped Holly’s troubles were indeed over.

**********

           “Have you given any thought to what career you would like to pursue?” asked Smeltings Headmaster Portermeyer.  
           “Uh, no,” answered Vernon Wycliff warily. What was all this about? The Headmaster had called Vernon in for a meeting without any explanation. Vernon had been racking his brain all morning ever since he got the note trying to figure out why. Career counseling was the last thing Vernon expected. He’d never heard of any other student being called in for career counseling… Why him?  
           “That’s too bad,” said the Headmaster. “I, uh, heard you were rather good with computers and such?” he added looking distinctly uncomfortable.  
           “Maybe,” hedged Vernon. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong?  
           Miranda’s friend had been so pleased with Vernon’s repair work that she had told her friends, and they had told their friends… Then Vernon had repaired Pittman’s computer (no charge.) Pittman was so pleased, he had passed the word throughout the school that if they wanted their computers repaired, they should go to Vernon! Vernon wasn’t sure whether Pittman’s advice had been interpreted more as a “suggestion” or a “threat,” but business was good. So good, in fact, that Kenny insisted Vernon set up a new bank account just to manage the profits instead of using it as extra spending cash. Kenny was also researching business licensing laws for Vernon. Even as Vernon sat, there were three computers in his room running through diagnostic programs.  
           “Actually, I heard that if I wanted my computer repaired right, I should go to you!” countered the Headmaster.  
           Vernon hunched down in his chair. _Pittman!_ What had he done? “Uh, sir, about that,” began Vernon. “I’m sure whatever you heard was an exaggeration and wasn’t meant the way it sounded...”  
           “Really?” the Headmaster sounded disappointed, “because that’s why I asked you in—for some repair work…”  
           “Huh?”  
           “Our computers have, ah, been afflicted with some sort of, ah, illness?”  
           “You mean _virus?”_ corrected Vernon automatically.  
           “Yes, I believe that’s the word,” answered the Headmaster sounding relieved. “It’s terribly embarrassing!” he added. “I think I pushed a button when I shouldn’t have…”  
           “That can happen,” said Vernon reassuringly while feeling immensely relieved. “You want me to take a look at it?”  
           “Would you?” answered the Headmaster looking much relieved as well. “I’ll pay…”  
           “That won’t be necessary,” assured Vernon, “It’s for the school, you know, but, um… no offense, but doesn’t Smeltings have someone on staff to take care of things like this?”  
           “We did,” admitted the Headmaster, “but, ah, it seems the contract for the person we had ran out and was never renewed…” He looked down and seemed rather embarrassed as he spoke. Then the Headmaster looked up and added, “Mr. Montague was good enough to take care of things… I’d ask him for help now but he seems to be otherwise disposed—the wedding and all…”  
           Montague! Vernon hadn’t realized he was that good with computers. It boggled the mind to think what else Montague was doing with the computers while “helping” the staff. Vernon was suddenly very glad he had removed that video of Ibbott from his computer last year and given it to Miranda to hold… Montague would have found it for sure! “It occurs to me that Smeltings should probably reissue that contract,” Vernon said aloud. “I’d be happy to apply…” he offered.  
           “And I would be happy to write a recommendation for you,” answered the Headmaster happily. “We must support our own whenever possible…”  
           Vernon grinned to himself. Kenny had already researched the standard salary for computer technicians and repair people. They made pretty good money! Vernon wasn’t legally able to sign a contract yet, but he was sure they could work something out.

**********

          Paige Brenna Crowley stared in disbelief at the floor! She had come to the house of a client after receiving a rather nasty note concerning a recent potion purchase: the client’s cat had tipped the bottle over. Nothing should have spilled but the client maintained the resulting spillage had sprouted green fuzz everywhere! The client demanded Paige clean things up immediately or she would register a complaint with the Ministry! But instead of green fuzz, the floor was covered in rose petals! In the middle of the room stood Tom Richards! He held a bouquet of assorted flowers in one arm and a red rose in the other. Tom looked more handsome than ever.  
           “I have decided that a Handfast Ceremony is too stodgy and old fashioned for us,” he began importantly before Paige could speak. “You may argue with me if you wish,” Tom continued, “but my mind is made up. If we wish to remove the negative stereotypes of our past and join the modern era we must break with tradition and forge new trails.”  
           Paige stared at him wordlessly. This was _not_ the way Tom had talked over the holidays. He looked different too.  
           The last time Paige had seen Tom was when he was slouched down in a butterbeer stupor at one of the Hog’s Head tables. (Dumbledore had a marvelous landing where she was able to see Tom downstairs without him seeing her.) When Paige realized Tom intended to hang out at the Hog’s Head she paid Dumbledore extra to use the back exit. That way she could come and go about her business without having an annoying confrontation with Tom. Paige was surprised to discover Tom was not in the Hog’s Head when she looked for him after Wizard Boot’s visit. Discrete inquiries of other regulars (Dumbledore never talked about his patrons) revealed that Tom hadn’t been in the Hog’s Head for nearly a week and was last seen in the company of a couple of Gryffindors! Unusual to say the least!  
           But it wasn’t just the neatly trimmed and brushed hair, emerald green suit and forest green dress robes with a green rosemary sprig boutonniere pinned prominently on his chest that made Tom seem different. There was something about his attitude. Paige couldn’t quite place it. She stepped closer all the while staring at Tom.  
           Paige had decided the whole idea of sensing dark items was a bunch of nonsense after she had returned to the Richards’ residence following her conversation with Boot ostensibly to look for her “hairbrush,” a family heirloom. No headaches, nothing out of place. That was no surprise; Paige had visited the Richards’ family several times the previous year and had never experienced headaches.  
           But Paige had gone farther visiting both Draco and Lucius Malfoy’s residences to “look” for that heirloom brush. Paige had experienced extreme headaches at both places over the holidays. The Malfoys were aloof and condescending, just as they had been when she first met them; they thought little of Paige and openly shared Anthony’s opinion that Paige was seeking a new name to re-establish her reputation. Their feelings towards Paige had dropped even lower after she had cancelled the wedding without explanation causing considerable embarrassment. There was no hairbrush and no headaches. So Paige had convinced herself that the headaches were the result of stress in an upcoming wedding… But now, looking at Tom, she was not so sure.  
           Even without speaking Tom was different from the way she remembered him in December. His confident stance was open and inviting. There was no hint of that cold, calculating gaze that dared her to disagree—or else! Tom seemed so _right_ that suddenly the thought that something else had influenced his earlier behavior became a distinct possibility.  
           Paige took another step forward. “What did you have in mind?” she questioned softly.  
           “Something small and intimate,” answered Tom while moving up closer to Paige. “No fanfare; just enough witnesses to make it legal,” he added while thrusting the bouquet of flowers into her hands.  
           Paige looked down at the flowers. It sounded good, just what she wanted if she could believe he meant it. The flowers were a motley collection of blooms—Paige recognized a primrose, a red tulip, an Austrian Rose, delicate almond blossoms, some lavender heliotrope, a pink carnation, a cluster of red raspberries… Prickly brambles wrapped around the outside provided the floral greenery and soft moss wrapped over the base of the brambles protected her hand from the thorns. Wait a minute! Was that an olive branch poking through? Paige looked at the flowers more closely. An olive branch was a clear peace offering. What about the others? Paige closed her eyes in thought.  
           The language of flowers was something Paige, as a Potions Mistress knew, but Tom? It was not his field. A primrose meant “young love” and “early youth,” but also _“I can’t live without you!”_ An Austrian rose meant, _“Thou art all that is lovely.”_ Moss meant _“devotion.”_ Flowering almond was _“hope;”_ bramble meant _“remorse;”_ raspberry also meant _“remorse;”_ heliotrope meant _“devotion and faithfulness,”_ and a pink carnation meant _“I will never forget you…”_ Collectively they contained a message far different from the words Tom had said out loud but one just as important. He had to realize that or would not have gotten those particular plants. “Where did you get these flowers?” Paige whispered.  
           “Made them!” Tom answered proudly.  
           “Grew them?” Paige knew Tom had barely passed Herbology.  
           “Not that way,” Tom admitted. “The ones I wanted weren’t in the shops so I, uh, transfigured a few…” That was actually harder to do than forced growing seeds. It required a lot of research and practice to get the flowers just right.  
           “For me?” Paige looked up into Tom’s hazel eyes.  
           “Yeah.”  
           “You mean it?”  
           “Yeah.” Tom reached out and took hold of Paige’s hands beneath the bouquet. “Well?” he asked hopefully. “Will you?”  
           Paige looked at the flowers in front of her. She gently pulled a hand away from Tom’s and drew her wand. Pointing it at the pink carnation, she whispered, _“Vermellos!”_ The pink deepened to a dark rich red. Tom had obviously been studying flowers and their meaning. He would surely understand.  
           Tom’s expression turned to pure delight. “Oh, Paige!” he whispered pulling Paige close in a tight embrace. “I’ve missed you so!”  
           “Me too,” agreed Paige and she let her body melt into his, welcoming the kiss that came with it.  
           “Come!” said Tom eagerly when he finally let go. “I’ve a surprise!” Taking hold of Paige’s hand he led her to the back wall. He pressed a panel and a hidden door opened up. Tom waited for Paige to enter first.  
           There was a tiny room behind the door. In the center was a white arch covered with red roses. An elderly wizard on the other side of the arch stood as Paige stepped in. She recognized him as a wizard who often conducted weddings. Other people stood. Paige stared in surprise. One was the client whose angry note had brought Paige to the house. There was also Harry Potter and his wife Ginny? And Wizard Thomas?  
           “What’s going on?” questioned Paige in a whisper.  
           “Something small and intimate with no fanfare and just enough witnesses to make it legal, as promised and you agreed!” he answered proudly. “You said “yes!” Tom reminded smugly for that’s what a red carnation meant, “I didn’t want to give you a chance to back out again!”  
           Paige looked at the group in disbelief. “But I’m not dressed!” she protested.  
           “You look lovely!” responded Tom with an adoring smile that lit up his whole face.  
           “But, … the Potters?” Paige never in a million years would have considered inviting them.  
           “He doesn’t ask questions,” replied Tom, “and was able to come at a moment’s notice. “Brought Thomas with him,” Tom added as an afterthought. “Can’t imagine why…” Tom looked into Paige’s eyes. “Shall we?”  
           “But… I haven’t—don’t know what—” the words died on Paige’s lips for Thomas’ presence practically insured any wedding vows would not conflict with auror vows… He wouldn’t let them! Perhaps that was why Potter had brought Thomas along, if it was indeed Potter’s doing… _“He knows!”_ Paige thought with shock! _“Tom knows I’m an auror! How did that happen? Tom would not have guessed on his own… Who told him? Potter? No, he wouldn’t. Thomas? Never! Those two Gryffindors?”_ Maybe, depending on who they were… Paige would have to find out … some other time…  
           Paige smiled up at Tom. “I’m not giving up my name!” she told him firmly. Paige would not let herself be railroaded into a wedding without setting some conditions of her own…  
           “Huh?” Uncertainty reflected on Tom’s face.  
           “I am no has-been and will _not_ hide behind your name!” Paige explained further. “As you said, “break with tradition and forge new trails…” It would also silence those who maintained Paige married only to get an untarnished name.  
           “Uh, agreed!” replied Tom hesitantly. “I can live with that…”  
           “That’s good,” murmured Paige sweetly as she slipped one arm around Tom’s and raised the bouquet to her waist. “Then perhaps we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting…”

**********

          The wedding ceremony was incredibly short, but legal. Nothing in it even remotely conflicted with her auror vows. The kiss afterwards took much longer but _Mrs._ Paige Brenna Crowley didn’t mind. It was a great kiss!  
           The reception was held in another room, provided by the client, who apologized profusely for the ruse that had brought Paige to the house in the first place. The client prattled on about how she loved weddings and surprises and Paige smiled blandly appearing to listen while turning her thoughts to the mysterious dark item that that had nearly destroyed her happiness.  
           What kind of item was it and where? Tom had been fine last year. The odd behavior hadn’t occurred until they visited the Richards’ residence during the summer. Tom was fine when they got to Switzerland afterwards to get the ring, fine while preparing for Pilkington’s ball (except for that _Imperius Curse_ bit with Sir,) fine at the Potters, and then, over the holidays, had turned icy again. That was while they had visited the family. Tom had gotten cold and distant and the headaches had returned. _“There had to be something in the house except… There had been headaches while they were at the Malfoys too—both residents. Something I had missed or …”_ A new thought occurred to Paige; _“Something no longer there when I later checked the house! The item had been moved!”_  
           But who? To where and why? It couldn’t be Tom or the headaches would have continued in Switzerland. Not the parents either; they were still in the house and the object was gone. _Anthony!!!_ His behavior had been just as odd as Tom’s! He had been at home over the summer _and_ during the holidays!

 


	37. Chapter 37

           “You want me to do _what?”_ came the disbelieving voice of Wizard Lucius Malfoy.  
           “Attend the Memorial Ceremony,” replied _Mrs._ Paige Crowley firmly.  
           Paige had acquired a set of potions bottle bearing the Black family crest. (Courtesy of Potter; Paige found them while cleaning out the Potions room in his mansion. Potter had given the bottles to Paige without hesitation when she expressed an interest in them. Potter clearly did not like anything bearing the Black crest.) Paige cleaned out the bottles and filled them with her best beauty potions. Then she dressed in an elegant lime green tea suit complete with matching gloves and hat, and presented the potions to Mrs. Malfoy as an apology for all the trouble she had caused due to the cancelled wedding. Once inside, Paige had requested a few words in “private” with Wizard Malfoy...  
           “And why would I do that?” he questioned disdainfully.  
           “Because you are a Hogwarts Governor and are entitled to participate in all Hogwarts events,” answered Paige, “and as one actually present during the Battle, it is your _right_ to attend.” Besides students and staff, only those who had actually been at the Battle of Hogwarts could attend the Memorial Ceremony held on Hogwarts grounds. No longer a student, Paige could only attend the Memorial Service held near a Muggle bridge the giants had destroyed.  
           “Why would I bother!” persisted Malfoy coldly.  
           “To protect the students!”  
           “Huh!” Malfoy raised an eyebrow in surprise.  
           “Surely you are not unaware of who crashed Pilkington’s Ball?” Paige asked pointedly.  
           Malfoy stiffened at her words. “What has that to do with anything?” he questioned bluntly.  
           “You and I both know that the next time there is a significant gathering of Ministry dignitaries is at the Hogwarts Memorial Ceremony.” Paige replied equally blunt.  
           “You can’t surely suggest something similar would happen at the Ceremony?” asked Malfoy in disbelief.  
           “I do.”  
           “But no one in their right mind would ever—”  
           “Exactly.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “They _aren’t_ in their right mind! Or do you truly think your _grandson_ is so _stupid_ as to disrupt a Ball where _you_ were being honored!”  
           “What are you saying?”  
           “I’m saying something else is at work here, something that doesn’t belong! Something influencing the Slytherin students to behave in uncharacteristic ways.”  
           “That’s impossible!” snapped Malfoy.  
           “Is it?” countered Paige. “Numerous items, supposedly dark in nature, were brought onto the Hogwarts campus during the days of the Dark Lord,” Paige reminded Malfoy. She did not add that said items were reputed to have been brought in by his son Draco! Malfoy no doubt already knew that. He probably also knew why Draco had been doing it—something not in the records. “Why can it not have happened again? I’ve made inquiries,” Paige added before Malfoy could respond.  
           Potter had made the inquiries for her, actually. “ _I’m afraid I haven’t had time to get you a wedding gift,” Potter had lamented when he greeted her at the reception._  
_“Then perhaps a favor,” replied Paige, “one that might be auror related…” she added in a whisper so Potter would know it was not some frivolous whim. It was nice having the ear of one so influential within the wizard community…_ Paige pulled out a tightly rolled scroll and handed it to Malfoy.  
           “What’s this?” inquired Malfoy as he untied the string around the scroll.  
           “This is a list of the house points deducted from the Slytherin students this past year,” Paige answered. Anthony’s constant rant against School discrimination made over the Holidays took on new meaning after Paige decided the school staff might actually be justified in their actions. She didn’t know how Potter had done it, wouldn’t inquire, but Paige had been certain there was some way to track such things to insure against professor abuse; the list was proof. “Below that is a list of all the Slytherin Students assigned detentions and the number of detentions each has been so far assigned,” she added.  
           “Where did you get this?” Malfoy asked suspiciously.  
           “From a source I trust,” answered Paige calmly. A proper Slytherin _never_ revealed her sources. Malfoy would know and respect that maxim and would assume Paige had gone to Professor Slughorn for the information. Knowing how much Malfoy hated Potter, Malfoy would never take the information seriously if he knew it came from Potter. “As Hogwarts Governor, I’m sure you have ways to verify it, if you wish” Paige added smoothly.  
           “How many House points did you loose before you decided there were better ways to achieve your goals?” Paige asked while he studied the list. It had to be 5 or 10 points at most, usually during the first two weeks. That was the norm for the seven years while she attended Hogwarts. “The numbers would suggest that no one has figured out how to avoid loosing House Points this year,” she concluded aloud without waiting for an answer. “How many _total_ House points did you loose while at Hogwarts?” continued Paige. Malfoy didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. Paige could guess; she kept track of things like that while she was at Hogwarts: at most 30 points. That was the average. Tom, with his fiery temper, had been an exception loosing over 40 points but only because of that fiasco with Taylor O’Daniels. The students on the list averaged a loss of 30 points each—and only for this year! The Slytherin House was so much in the hole point-wise there was no way they could dig themselves out despite their quidditch wins. “How many detentions?” she asked not waiting for an answer. “Once? Twice?” Detentions were rarely passed out. _“Every_ Slytherin student this year has received two or more detentions!” Paige informed Malfoy. Paige had _never_ received a detention or had House points taken off.  
           “Assuming at least one quarter of the detentions and House Point deductions are due to spurious professor discrimination, or even one half,” Paige continued while Malfoy stared at the lists, “the numbers are still unusually large. Especially when compared against the number of Slytherin infractions last year,” Paige continued without waiting for a response. “And the year before that…” She handed Malfoy two more scrolls both conspicuously shorter in length. Paige had carefully recopied all the lists onto new parchment in case Malfoy was familiar with Potter’s handwriting. “I maintain there is a reason for that increase and it is not the changing times.”  
           “What, then?”  
           “I don’t know,” answered Paige honestly. “I just know these numbers are not right.” _“And that the headaches vanished after Anthony took the Hogwarts Express for school,”_ but she didn’t add that part aloud.  
           Paige sat silently giving Malfoy time to consider her words. “There’s this, too,” Paige added quietly and handed Malfoy a fourth scroll. He looked questioningly at her while he undid the ribbon holding it closed. “It’s a list of … some of the extra curricular activities the Slytherin students have been observed engaging in…” she explained. The activities went beyond the usual school pranks of harassment and hallway magic and included petty theft, theft, student harassment, vandalism of student possessions, school vandalism, assault, battery, kidnapping (pet,) pet transfiguration, and blackmail. “While some are more creative than others,” Paige concluded aloud, “they are attributed to no single individual or group of students but rather, spread out among all. There’s no apparent motive to these activities either beyond that of … disruption and instant malicious gratification.”  
           “This list is, of course, incomplete,” Paige continued, “as it only mentions those activities the Slytherin students were _observed_ doing…” She left the rest unspoken. Malfoy knew as well as she how many other things the Slytherins did that did not get observed or reported… Paige was certain the Slytherin students were also responsible for contaminating the Centaur Spring … “And I’ve heard reports that it’s been escalating...” Paige was not sure whether that meant in frequency or in intensity or both. “This is not normal behavior!”  
           “Why does no one seem to know this?” Malfoy questioned  
           “Oh, they do,” assured Paige. “But they’ve not interpreted the information correctly. We both heard Scorpius and Anthony complain over the Holidays. At the time I thought it nothing more than the usual student complaints and professor discrimination,” Paige began. “Remember those school articles in the _Prophet?”_ Skeeter had written a scathing one on the incompetence of the Hogwarts professors, too old to keep proper classroom control, and calling for younger, preferably Slytherin, professors to take the helm. Another accused the professors of blatant favoritism picking on the Slytherin students to cover their inability to teach and accused McGonagall of poor leadership. Then there were the two about Quidditch, one where Skeeter praised the Slytherin skill in winning a match so quickly, and the other where she criticized the school for pandering to Gryffindor egos letting them fly as “guards” during the match. “Skeeter has never once suggested something could be causing an overall change in student behavior,” reminded Paige, “but she should have. McGonagall is surely aware of the student excesses but she’s too arrogant to consider something outside has slipped through Hogwarts defenses to create that behavior.” Nor would it have occurred to Paige were it not for the headaches.  
           “Assuming you are correct,” began Malfoy, “and that is no certainty. What exactly do you propose I should do about this?” questioned Malfoy. “Demand a search of the Hogwarts grounds?”  
           “You can, if you wish,” replied Paige coolly. “But I doubt they’d believe you. It would be like crying wolf. Your time would be better spent protecting the students.”  
           “How? From what? It doesn’t sound as if they need protecting.”  
           “On the contrary,” argued Paige. “Their judgment has been severely impaired. You saw them at the Ball: maximum emotional impact with no regard for consequences. What would have happened to them if Pilkington hadn’t pulled them out of the Ball when he did? Their activities at school reflect a similar lack of regard. Petty, mean, spiteful, vindictive actions filled with malice with no discernable direction—maximum emotional impact with no regard for consequence. They display no self-restraint, which explains why so many of their activities have been observed! House points and detentions have not slowed them down. They will try something at the Ceremony. Something without regard for consequence! You must be there to—”  
           “Do what? Stop them?”  
           “If you can, of course, but otherwise…”  
           “What?”  
           “Mitigate.”  
           “Huh?”  
           “Make sure whatever they do doesn’t get them expelled, thrown into Azkaban or worse!” _Like killed!_ “We cannot let this ruin their lives.”  
           “And why do you care?”  
           “Shouldn’t we all?” replied Paige calmly.  
           “Of course,” answered Malfoy but he looked expectantly at Paige as if that answer wasn’t good enough. It wouldn’t be for him. Altruistic responses were a Gryffindor thing; Slytherins were more self-oriented.  
           “And we must protect our families,” Paige added coolly.  
           “Families?” Malfoy questioned with a raised eyebrow and open disbelief. Paige had no little brothers or sisters attending Hogwarts, as Malfoy surely knew.  
           “Families,” replied Paige firmly. She reached out with her right hand and deliberately pulled at the fingers of her glove gently removing it and revealing a sparkling gold wedding band beneath—an emerald eyed snake wrapped around her finger with a glittering diamond in its mouth. “I do not wish my adoptive family’s name to be _tarnished.”_ It was a reason Paige knew Malfoy would understand.  
           “So you married after all,” he observed while looking at the ring.  
           “Yes,” admitted Paige. “We resolved our differences. And the family name is important.”  
           “True,” Malfoy agreed. “Congratulations,” he added politely without warmth.  
           “Thank you. We hope to have a traditional Slytherin reception after school lets out. Assuming we have something to celebrate…”  
           “Of course,” agreed Malfoy. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Paige waited quietly. Malfoy needed time to think about what she had said and she would not rush him. After several minutes of silence, Malfoy opened his eyes and looked directly at Paige. “Isn’t there supposed to be a family picnic after the Memorial Ceremony?” he asked.  
           “Yes.”  
           “It might be nice to visit with my grandson and daughter…”  
           “The other parents seem to find it pleasurable,” agreed Paige. Having no family attending the ceremony, Paige had always grabbed a quick bite and then used the time to study for exams…  
           Malfoy sighed. “I suppose it’s time to carry out one of my duties as Hogwarts Governor and hear what kind of lies they tell at the Ceremony…”  
           “Potter never speaks,” informed Paige. “Nor Hagrid,” she added as an afterthought. “McGonagall never mentions what happened in the Woods…” Everyone knew Malfoy had come in from the Woods with the Dark Lord....  
           Malfoy grimaced. “I said I would _hear_ the lies, not _add_ to them,” he said stiffly.  
           “Of course,” agreed Paige carefully keeping her expression devoid of emotion while smiling inwardly with relief. If something happened, as Paige was certain it would, Malfoy would use his position to protect his grandson under the guise of protecting all the students. In doing so he protected Anthony as well.  
           If she were lucky, the dark item she sought would be found at Hogwarts. The Slytherin students would close ranks. No one would admit any prior knowledge of it or how it had gotten to Hogwarts. Anthony would be one of many possible culprits, all claiming innocence, and so would escape detection and punishment.  
           If the dark item was not discovered at Hogwarts, then Paige hoped Anthony would not be so stupid as to bring it back with him as he had probably done before. At the moment, there was no proof there was a connection between dark items and her headaches. But if the headaches returned Paige would have to conduct a thorough search of the house, Anthony and his things to test the theory. If she found something dark, Paige intended to try to destroy the item, hopefully without involving the Ministry. With luck, Anthony’s involvement, if there was any, might never become publicly known.

 


	38. Chapter 38

          “Are you ready, Potter?” called out Headmistress McGonagall.  
           “Just about,” replied Harry Potter. He straightened his robe and gave his unruly hair one last attempt with a comb. Today was an important day for the people at Hogwarts. It was a day commemorated throughout the wizard world. It was a day Harry did not particularly wish to remember.  
           The door opened and Prime Minister Shacklebolt stepped in. He was attired in his finest dress robes, as was fitting of his position. Harry wore plain black dress robes; he refused to wear anything fancier. “Hello, Harry,” said Shacklebolt warmly shaking Harry’s hand.  
           “Hello, Kingsley,” greeted Harry in return.  
           Kingsley looked through the window. “It’s almost time,” he commented. Harry looked outside and nodded. It did look a bit lighter outside. The ceremony was timed to coincide with dawn. Always dawn. McGonagall insisted Harry arrive the night before knowing full well that he would arrive late or not at all given the opportunity. Unfortunately, there were some things even Harry could not avoid.  
           “Are you ready?” asked McGonagall entering the room. She was wearing full dress robes also. Her tartan plaids sparkled as the threads of silver woven within caught the light. “It’s time.” Kingsley and Harry nodded. “Come along then,” she said sweeping out of the room. Harry and Kingsley followed.  
           The three walked down to the Great Hall stopping at the entrance. The other Hogwarts professors were waiting outside the entrance. Standing next to Professor Slughorn was _Lucius Malfoy!_  
           “What are you doing here?” questioned Harry bluntly. His surprise at Malfoy’s presence was so great that the question slipped out before he realized he had spoken it aloud.  
           “I’m here for the Ceremony, of course!” Malfoy replied imperiously.  
           “Wizard Malfoy arrived early this morning for the express intent of joining the Ceremony,” informed McGonagall matter-of-factly.  
           “And you didn’t _warn_ me?”  
           “Of what?” she questioned tartly. “The addition of one more person changes nothing.”  
           But it did! It changed everything because it was Malfoy! _Malfoy!_ “Did you know about this?” Harry demanded of Kingsley  
           “It _was_ you who said he’d had a change of heart in the end, wasn’t it?” replied Kingsley without answering the question.  
           “Wizard Malfoy is a Hogwarts Governor and was present at the Hogwarts Battle. He has every _right_ to be here,” reminded Luna softly.  
           “Well, yes, but…” With effort Harry bit back the words flying through his head managing to keep quiet. It was Malfoy! _Malfoy!_ How _dare_ he make a mockery of the Ceremony with his presence! Malfoy was as much to blame as Voldemort! Malfoy had supported Voldemort when Voldemort had killed his parents! Malfoy had given Ginny that journal opening the Chamber of Secrets and creating Tom Riddle! He’d nearly killed Harry trying to get the prophecy; was there when Sirius died, had stood by Voldemort until the very end and…  
           “Shall we get this over with?” Malfoy stated interrupting Harry’s thoughts with an infuriating smile on his lips.  
           _“… And helped save Holly…”_ Harry admitted silently. The past couldn’t be undone but it was a long time ago... “Yeah!” agreed Harry aloud annoyed to be in agreement with Malfoy over anything! No matter what Malfoy had done recently, Harry still hated him…  
           “Right!” said McGonagall primly. “Then let’s get on with it.” She led the way into the Great Hall followed by Prime Minister Shacklebolt and then Harry Potter.  
           Malfoy slipped in line behind Shacklebolt and in _front_ of Harry. “We’re both Governors, Potter, “M” before “P,” he reminded Harry imperiously as he did it.  
           Harry stopped. _“How dare he!”_ Harry raged inwardly.  
           “You really want Malfoy walking _behind_ you?” Neville whispered in Harry’s ear as the other Professors joined in behind. Neville had a point. Harry would never trust Malfoy… Harry reluctantly stepped forward following behind Malfoy.  
           The Great Hall was full of people. Harry kept his face carefully neutral and his eyes fixed straight ahead as he walked down the center with the rest of the procession.  _“I should be used to this by now,”_ he told himself. But he wasn’t. Crowds of people pointing and looking as he passed by still made him uncomfortable. Then Harry heard a murmur ripple through the crowd. Suddenly it occurred to Harry that the people might not be looking at him! They could be staring at _Malfoy,_ the newcomer! Harry was tempted to look around and see if he was right but didn’t. He had always stared straight ahead and would do so now. But as Harry walked, new thoughts floated through his head: why was Malfoy there? It couldn’t be to actually attend the Ceremony. What other reason could there be?  
           Finally, they reached the end of the hall, climbed up the steps and walked to the seating area reserved for dignitaries. McGonagall sat in the center chair near the podium. Kingsley sat to her left. Malfoy confidently moved up and sat proudly next to Kingsley. Harry looked about the stage wanting to sit anywhere but in the chair _next_ to Malfoy. Unfortunately, sitting anywhere else would look exactly like what it was—deliberate avoidance. It wasn’t worth making a scene. Harry sat next to Malfoy determined to ignore him as much as possible. The rest of the Professors sat on either side of them.  
           Once seated, Harry used the opportunity to look out at the crowd below him. As usual, the seating was arranged by year. First year students sat in benches making the front row, the Seconds came next and so on, with all other guests seated in the back. The students still managed to sit by House; making wide stripes of House colours from front to back instead of by table. The Hufflepuffs sat at the far right, then the Ravenclaws, the Gryffindors and on the left were the Slytherins.  
           Harry quickly counted up three rows, looked within the Gryffindor colours and found Lily seated between friends. He spotted Hugo in the row in front of Lily. Behind Lily in the fifth row sat Albus next to Conner. Rose was at the edge of the Gryffindor group, not near Albus; they’d probably had another fight. Harry found Holly seated on the far right end next to Becky in the same row. Her head was bowed. Harry recognized Holly by the single braid that hung forward obscuring her face. Holly was probably concentrating on blocking. Harry knew large crowds were difficult for her. James sat in the last row. Ginny, Ron and Hermione had all found seats right behind him. That was nice. Harry wished, as usual, he was sitting out there with them.  
           Headmistress McGonagall stood to speak. The whole hall grew quiet. “Friends, students, Professors, and honored guests,” began McGonagall. “We are gathered here today to remember…”  
           As usual, Harry tried hard to not listen. He didn’t want to remember; it was too painful. Instead Harry turned his thoughts as to why Malfoy had come. How could he sit up on the stand and bear all those eyes knowing he had been part of their reason for coming?  
           “Fascinating rendition,” Malfoy suddenly murmured in Harry’s ear. “I should have thought you’d have told everyone about your invincibility that day! Add to your glorious reputation!”  
           Harry bit back a retort determined to ignore Malfoy. It was terribly rude for Malfoy to be talking in the first place. Was that why he was here? To mock the whole proceedings?  
           McGonagall sat down. Kingsley stood.  
           “Does she always look that way?” questioned Malfoy suddenly as Kingsley started to speak.  
           “Huh?” blurted Harry trying hard but unable to totally ignore Malfoy.  
           “Wycliff,” continued Malfoy. “She looks as she did at the Ball; is that normal for her?”  
           Harry’s gaze involuntarily flew to Holly. Holly’s head was up; she looked pale and stiff. Ball? What Ball? _“Pilkington’s Ball!”_ remembered Harry. Two years ago right after the rescue! Holly had gone to the Ball! Yes, she’d been pale there too—right before that big fight… Suddenly alert, Harry looked again around the Hall.  
           “And the students,” continued Malfoy as Harry looked, “they’re all so rude! No courtesy at all! I must complain! They should be taught better manners! It’s supposed to be an important day!”  
           Never mind that Malfoy was being just as rude! He was right. There did seem to be a lot of whispering going on. Student heads turned back and forth to each other leaning into ears; other heads leaned up to students in rows in front and turned to speak with someone behind… Harry was dismayed to note his children seemed to be just as bad! In fact, the only group of perfectly polite, respectful students, eyes totally glued to the front, sat on the far left—wearing House robes of Slytherin green!  
           Kingsley didn’t like to make speeches. His was short, timed to end with the sunrise. When he finished, the edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. Everybody turned to look at it, imagining what it had been like to be here that final moment… Rather, that’s what they normally did.  
           Harry caught a movement from the floor. He drew his wand to look as the Slytherin students rose as a group. Their wands were drawn and aimed; they shouted! Harry couldn’t tell what they said because at the same time the rest of the student body rose and faced the Slytherins! The word: _“Expelliarmus!”_ rang out in unison drowning out the Slytherin voices. At the same time, Harry also heard a lone _“Protegio!”_ nearby. Bolts of light flashed through the hall in all directions!  
           The force of the _“Expelliarmus!”_ spells hurled the Slytherin students into the nearby wall. Non-Slytherin students flew into the air as well landing heavily upon other students. Wands flew into the air! But not all!  
           Amid the screams and confusion on the floor, Harry watched in disbelief as some Slytherin students stood up and raise their wands again… He selected an older student, and aimed his own wand. The distance to the student was much farther than Harry was used to casting, but he had to try… _“Expelliarmus!”_ he shouted before the student could cast his own spell. More wands flew into the air; Harry was not the only one to cast his spell.  
           After that, more _“Expelliarmus!”_ shouts rang out from the around the Hall disarming the remaining Slytherin students who still held wands… Looking down over the Hall, Harry saw several students on the floor suffering from some sort of hexes.  
           **“What is the meaning of this disruption?”** questioned McGonagall in a loud thunderous voice. The room turned deathly silent. **“Well?”** demanded McGonagall. **“O’Shea? Gruffudd? What have you to say for yourselves?”**  
           “It, ah, needed to be done,” answered one of the students vaguely. He wore a prefect badge.  
           “Needed to be done?” McGonagall repeated in disbelief. “What kind of answer is that Gruffudd?”  
           “You celebrate the death of a great leader when you should be _mourning_ it!” answered a female Slytherin student, also wearing a prefect badge.  
           “This disrespect needs to stop!” added a third with hair so short it reminded Harry of a military regulation haircut—almost but not exactly bald. He guessed he was one of four students who had lost their hair due to Luna’s grasshoppers. Rita had written a rather nasty article about how the Professors should be more discriminating with their use of spells never once mentioning that the students involved had been blackmailing Holly! Harry had gotten versions of the full story from all three of his children who seemed to feel the hair loss was fully deserved.  
           “Imbeciles!” murmured a voice nearby, Malfoy’s. The disgust in his voice was obvious.  
           Harry pocked his wand. There was no need for it; the situation looked well under control. “Perhaps the students are a tad disrespectful,” he murmured softly to Malfoy, “but they do seem to have mastered the disarming spell…” In reality, Harry was certain they had witnessed no disrespect. Holly had somehow sensed the Slytherin intent beforehand, and passed out a warning!  
           In getting his information for Paige, Harry had had a long conversation with James. He learned the rest of the student population had tired of the Slytherin antics and had pretty much united against them looking out for each other in the process. Classroom tricks of tied shoelaces and goo on the floor no longer worked. Between the other three houses, the Slytherins were under observation from the moment they stepped out of their dorm to the moment they returned. If someone saw a Slytherin tying shoelaces, someone else untied them! No need to confront the Slytherins or inform the professors. This left the Slytherins frustrated, attempting tricks that no longer seemed to work or bigger tricks that were more likely to succeed but harder to hide their participation. Holly had been instrumental in providing advance notice on larger projects enabling the rest of the students to prepare and stop things as soon as possible.  
           “Yes, well, you many have a point there,” admitted Malfoy grudgingly while pocketing his own wand.  
           “Look!” exclaimed one the students down in the Hall. Harry looked. The student speaking held out a wand. Something seemed to glint on the wand but Harry couldn’t tell what.  
           “Give me my wand!” demanded a well-dressed Slytherin girl angrily while reaching out to grab the wand. Her motions were checked by the instant action of the rest of the wands of the non-Slytherin students that shifted in her direction.  
           The student, a small slender spindly girl, with black frizzy hair and huge glasses, wearing Ravenclaw blue, ignored the Slytherin girl as she walked over to the stage.  
           “You’ll pay, Turay!” threatened the Slytherin darkly. Harry stared in disbelief at the open threat made without regard to who heard. Turay did not respond as she reached up and handed the wand to McGonagall.  
           “That will be enough, Avery!” stated McGonagall reprovingly as she gingerly took the wand with two fingers and turned it about.  
           Harry stepped forward with Malfoy and craned his neck over Kingsley to look at the wand. The other professors crowded around to look as well. At its base, about a centimeter from the end, Harry saw a thin silver band set into the wand. “I’ve never seen a wand with silver before,” Kingsley commented softly.  
           _“Me neither,”_ thought Harry. _“Crystals, yes. But not silver.”_  
           “Don’t suppose it could be purely ornamental…” commented Neville. “Does Ollivander sell them this way?”  
           “No!” assured McGonagall grimly. Wand in hand, McGonagall moved swiftly off the stage to confront the student. Everyone else on the stage followed. “Where did you get this wand, Avery!” she demanded while holding the wand in front of her.  
           “It’s mine!” she asserted, “and I want it back, _now!”_ She tried to grab it but McGonagall pulled it out of reach. “How dare you take my wand!”  
           “How dare you bring something like this into Hogwarts!” countered McGonagall angrily. “Where did you get it?”  
           “Ollivander’s!” she snapped. “Now give it back!”  
           “Not with silver!” insisted McGonagall.  
           “It does look like Miss Avery’s wand,” said Luna taking the wand from McGonagall and holding it gingerly by the tip. She stared at it closely. “But not the silver…” she added. “That’s new… How did that happen, Miss Avery?”  
           “This one too!” announced another student before Avery could answer. The student held it out by the tip so everyone could see the glint of silver at the base shining in the morning sun. Several of the students began to pick up wands. “These too!” announced another student while holding up several wands, all by the points, displaying the silver on the other end.  
           The Slytherins attempted to stop it but a cry of _“Aquamenti!”_ by … _(was that Hugo’s voice?)_ dumped water on the first Slytherin who moved and kept the other Slytherins from stopping the wand collection.  
           “They’re all that way!” exclaimed another student.  
           “Looks to be set in rather well,” observed Neville as he took the wand from Luna. He held the handle up to the morning light so he could see it better. “Who did it?” he asked Avery.  
           “I did,” Avery said proudly. “Now give it back!”  
           “Ew!” came a loud voice and Harry heard the clattering sound of a wand landing on the floor. Harry looked in the direction of the voice and saw Holly looking back at him or, more like, at McGonagall. “The wand,” she began, “It—”  
           “It needs to be destroyed!” interrupted Malfoy abruptly before Holly could finish. “All of them do!” Harry looked at Malfoy in surprise. Wasn’t that a bit extreme?  
           “Why?” questioned a tall skinny Slytherin girl with tight blonde curls. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of beauty!”  
           “Yeah!” argued another Slytherin girl, heavy with short thick brown braids. “Just because you haven’t one!”  
           “I wouldn’t want one!’ replied Malfoy disdainfully. “They’ve been tainted!” he declared. “You don’t _add_ anything to a wand once made.”  
           “You do if it makes them better!” argued a tall Slytherin girl wearing a stylish lime green turban. “My wand has never worked better!” she insisted proudly. A chorus of Slytherin students chimed in in agreement.  
           “Seriously?” said Malfoy scornfully. “This is your idea of better? Your wands may work well enough on parlor tricks such as _transfiguration_ , but it comes at a price! Your judgment is seriously impaired!”  
           “No it isn’t!” argued an older tall, thin Slytherin boy with, over-sized teeth and another military style haircut.  
           Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Launching an attack against a crowd of aurors and Gryffindors when you are outnumbered _five_ to one is the _best_ you could think up?” he asked disdainfully. “You have also managed to _unite_ the whole student body against you!” he added looking around the Hall, at the students with wands still drawn and ready for use. “With that kind of thinking you will be lucky to stay _alive_ let alone _out_ of Azkaban! Those wands are contaminated! They need to be destroyed _now_ before they do any more damage! And I do mean _now!”_ stated Malfoy. He snatched the wand from Neville’s fingers and threw it in the corner of the Hall against the stage. It clattered loudly as it landed. “Throw the rest of them over there!” he commanded. No one moved.  
           “My parents will hear about this!” threatened a stocky Slytherin boy with pasty white skin, also sporting a military style haircut.  
           “Good!” retorted Malfoy coldly. “Then they can explain to you the dangers of meddling with wands! If you’re lucky, the damage won’t be _permanent!_ Well?” he demanded looking around the Hall. “Or do you think the continuation of some foolish ceremony to those long dead is more important than the health of our students _today?”_  
           “Do it!” voiced Holly in the silence that followed. “The wands! They’ve got to go!”  
           From among the students, Harry saw James toss the extra wand he held in his hand next to the one Malfoy had thrown in the corner. It clattered loudly. More wands followed. Soon there was pile of wands, all glinting bits of silver.  
           “You can’t destroy our wands!” protested another Slytherin student. “You have no _right!”_ Sandy coloured hair, angry scowl, looked a lot like Tom Richards! Had to be his younger brother Anthony.  
           “Oh, I don’t know about that,” spoke up McGonagall. “Wizard Malfoy is a Hogwarts Governor. Who better to make such decisions? In fact, Wizard Potter is too!” she reminded the student. “Any objections, Potter?” She looked at Harry expectantly.  
           Harry looked around the Hall. The silver hadn’t seemed natural gleaming on the wand and Holly’s “Ew!” echoed in his mind. Harry remembered Holly had recognized his and Bellatrix’s wand just by touch. Whatever Holly had felt from that student’s wand couldn’t be good. Harry hated to support Malfoy on anything, but the wands had to go! “Ah, no,” Harry said clearly. “No objections!”  
           “Right!” said McGonagall with satisfaction as if Harry’s agreement settled everything. “The wands go!” she added decisively. He and Malfoy still could have been outvoted at an actual board meeting, but Harry doubted it would ever come to that. “Is that all of them?” McGonagall questioned as she looked at the pile.  
           “We’d best make sure,” replied Luna. She pointed her wand in the direction of the Slytherin students. _“Accio wand!”_ she commanded forcefully.  
           _“Accio wand!”_ boomed the thunderous voice of Kingsley.  
           _“Accio wand!”_ came the voices of parents and students alike from across the hall, Harry included. Several more wands popped into sight, all with sparkling silver at the base. The wands hovered in the air as if confused where to go next, but a collective swish of wands sent the tainted wands with silver into the pile with the rest.  
           “I would say that’s all,” stated Malfoy dryly.  
           “How _dare_ you treat us like common criminals!” protested O’Shea furiously.  
           “Feel free to submit a complaint!” retorted McGonagall unsympathetically and she turned her attention to the collection of wands. Light, dark, thick, thin knobby and smooth, all kinds of wands lay in the pile. The bits of silver in the wands seemed to glisten defiantly. There was a moment of silence as everyone gazed at the pile of wands.  
           “Let’s get this over with,” declared McGonagall breaking the silence and determinedly stepping forward.  
           “You will _regret_ this!” Avery promised darkly as McGonagall raised her wand.  
           _“Incendio!”_ shouted McGonagall. Nothing happened. Several Slytherins started sniggering.  
           Drawing his wand, Harry stepped next to McGonagall. “Again,” he told her quietly. “On the count of three… One, two, three— ** _Incendio!”_ ** he shouted with McGonagall, joining his will with hers. Behind him he heard more voices, Kingsley, and the professors joining in. A thin tendril of black smoke curled slowly, almost reluctantly, up from the pile. It was as if the wands were fighting to stay whole.  
           _“Incendio!”_ Harry shouted again in unison with McGonagall, the other Professors, students and guests. Harry didn’t look, but he was fairly certain he’d heard Ginny, Ron and Hermione’s voices from further back as well. The tendril got thicker and thicker… Harry began to cough. The whole hall filled with thick black smoke carrying with it a stench of what—not exactly wood, but burning oil? Corpses? Harry couldn’t quite figure out what but besides coughing, the stench made him want to gag.  
          **_“Aperire!”_ ** boomed Kingsley’s voice in Harry’s ear. The smoke swirled and thinned. Breathing became instantly easier. Looking about, Harry saw one of the windows had been opened and the black smoke seemed to pour through.  
           _“Incendio!”_ Harry shouted again with renewed energy.  
           Abruptly, a flame burst forth! A _red_ flame! With no shades of yellow or orange! Higher and higher it grew until the whole pile was covered in burning red. Harry stared, mesmerized, watching the wands burn. The fire burned hot and quick; then the flaming red abruptly winked out.  
           _“Aquamenti!”_ shouted Luna. A cloud of water burst forth over the ash. It hissed, sizzled and finally grew quiet leaving a charred sodden mass upon the floor.  
           “I expect full reimbursement for the replacement of my wand,” stated Richards coldly. Harry looked around the Hall. He saw the students, Slytherins included, had all moved forward and gathered in a semi circle to watch the wands burn. Harry noted that Holly and his own family, all stood in the front of that semi-circle.  
           “Feel free to submit a bill,” retorted McGonagall crisply, “but I doubt you will get anything. Tainted wands have _no_ value!”  
           Harry wanted to go over and ask Holly what she had felt, certain it would help explain the difficulty to ignite the wands, the intense black smoke and eerie red flames, but he could ask later. First things first—were the wands truly destroyed? He stepped forward. Using a foot, Harry carefully stirred the soggy pile of ash looking for unburned bits. Beneath the ash, he saw a glint of silver. Harry cautiously touched the silver with the edge of his shoe. It quivered! _What?_ In disbelief Harry watched while tiny beads of silver seemed to roll on the floor like quicksilver! They all rolled towards the quivering mass of silver! “Uh, I think we have a problem…” Harry said aloud. He drew his wand as more and more beads of silver rolled into the mass making it larger and larger…  
           “What?” questioned McGonagall and Harry heard footsteps as she strode forward.  
           “Uh,” Harry began glancing up at her. How did one describe the growing blob of silver? He looked down again and to his horror, saw the blob of silver had begun to spin! Faster and faster it spun, a molten silver ball lifting off the floor rising higher and higher. It reached eye level and as it spun, the silver seemed to grow ridges and knobs resembling something like a fist before it suddenly shot out towards the students—and was met by a splash of silver!  
           The sound of the collision was thunderous! The silver blob dropped to the floor like a stone. Harry blinked and saw the second splash of silver rise up and down swiftly over the blob. He hurried over; the second splash of silver belonged to a shining sword that continued to rise up and down over the blob. But it wasn’t a blob any more. Harry recognized bits of fingers, a thumb, and palm parts all moving back towards each other but bouncing away when they touched as if the cut edges could no longer join together… The sword continued up and down chopping larger bits into smaller pieces until they were all the size of tiny pebbles, smaller than peas, each quivering as if alive. Then the sword came up and down landing flat on the pebbles mashing them into the floor… When the sword lifted, the pebbles were flattened bits that hissed and sizzled and abruptly exploded into nothingness. With a heavy _“thwack,”_ the sword came down again and again on the other pebbles until none remained.

**********

          “Is everyone all right?” asked McGonagall in the silence that followed. Harry Potter pulled his eyes from the now bare floor and looked around. He was surprised to note that Conner Fitzpatrick stood within the semicircle holding the sword. His face was flushed with exertion. No one spoke in answer to McGonagall’s question.  
           “That was a very dangerous thing you attempted, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” scolded McGonagall sternly.  
           Conner straightened. “Yeah, well I was trying to hit the thing out the window but I couldn’t get the bat turned properly in time…” he said apologetically. “And when I didn’t hit it square and it fell, I just knew I had to keep going until it was destroyed… “  
           _Bat?_ “Um, you’re not exactly holding a bat, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” stated Harry bluntly.  
           “I’m not?” questioned Conner clearly surprised. He looked down at the sword in his hand. “Well, I guess that explains why it seemed a bit heavy. At least it worked…”  
           “That’s—that’s the Sword of Gryffindor!” exclaimed one of the other students in an awed voice stating what Harry had realized the moment he had seen the second flash of silver—Harry would never forget the sword having once wielded it himself.  
           “Sword of Gryffindor? Well I didn’t _steal_ it, if that’s what you think!” exclaimed Conner defensively. “I was just standing there thinking it would be nice to have something to hit that silver ball should it come flying our way, kind of like in cricket, when there it was, in front of me…”  
           “And a very good thing it came when it did,” assured Harry calmly. “You can’t exactly steal the Sword of Gryffindor,” he added reassuringly to Conner. “It doesn’t work that way…”  
           “Oh, that’s good,” said Conner in relief. “Gryffindor? Like in Gryffindor House?” he asked curiously.  
           “Yes, like in Gryffindor House,” stated Rose in a patronizing voice. “As in _Godric_ Gryffindor’s Sword! Don’t you know anything?”  
           “That will do, Miss Weasley!” said McGonagall tartly.  
           “His sword? That’s not like the _Excalibur_ or anything is it?” Conner questioned worriedly.  
           “It doesn’t name kings or anything, Mr. Fitzpatrick,” assured McGonagall. “It just comes to those who, um, need it, like you did…”  
           _“Only a true Gryffindor could pulled that out of a hat,”_ Dumbledore had once said. Harry smiled. The other students would no doubt fill Conner in on the details about the sword later now that he had drawn it…  
           “What was it anyway?” asked Conner. “It looked kind of like a hand…”  
           “Pettigrew’s hand,” whispered Holly solemnly confirming what Harry had realized with horror from the moment the silver ball had risen in front of him and shot off before he could think what to do to stop it. They had been lucky indeed that Conner had been more concerned about getting rid of it than the horror of what it was…  
           “Pettigrew’s hand? I didn’t know Pettigrew had a silver hand!” exclaimed Conner.  
           Harry could almost hear Rose’s eyes roll up—“Yes, Pettigrew had a silver hand,” he said quickly before Rose could speak. “Given to him by Lord Voldemort for … _services_ rendered.” And if Conner wanted to know more, Harry was sure Rose would be happy to fill him in… “I don’t know about anyone else,” Harry announced loudly while looking about the Hall, “but I need some fresh air!” There was a murmur of agreement and without another word, students and adults alike, began to file out of the Great Hall, the Memorial room forgotten.

**********

           “So that’s where Pettigrew got to!”  
           Harry Potter had been about to seek his own family and step outside with them when Lucius’ Malfoy’s words stopped him short. Malfoy moved next to Harry. “He was always a miserable little coward!” Malfoy added softly in Harry’s ear. “Pettigrew must have hidden in the castle during the battle and gotten killed during all the explosions. Perhaps the little _rat_ was crawling someplace where he shouldn’t be, gotten killed someplace where he’d never be found and that nasty hand has been creeping around ever since looking for some way to exact revenge… It’s a good enough story, don’t you think, Potter?” questioned Malfoy. “Fits all the facts; explains things neatly. Like it? I think McGonagall will like it much better than the one I’ll tell should anyone even _hint_ that Pettigrew died anywhere but at Hogwarts!” he added in a threatening tone.  
           _“Huh?”_ Harry hadn’t even had time to think past the presence of the Hand let alone where it had come from.  
           “Then I’d be forced to tell a different tale, the one where you brutally murdered Pettigrew!”  
           “That’s a lie!” blurted Harry automatically.  
           “Is it?” countered Malfoy. “I never said anything before because Pettigrew deserved it but the last time I saw Pettigrew _alive_ was when he was going to check on you in the cellar!” Malfoy reminded Harry. “He was dead in that very cellar the next time I saw him. The hand was missing,” Malfoy informed Harry. “Did you take it for a souvenir? Of course you did! Perhaps you thought you could use it against the Dark Lord! I bet you gave it to your boys so they could plant it on the Slytherins! Then they could innocently sit back and watch them get into trouble! A little payback for all the grief the Slytherins gave them a few years ago—Who was it that said that _revenge_ is a dish best served cold?”  
           “I never—” Harry sputtered. “They never— No one would ever believe that…”  
           “Wouldn’t they?” argued Malfoy confidently. “You hated Pettigrew as much as the rest of us! He betrayed your parents, sent Black to Azkaban and was instrumental in the return of the Dark Lord. You saw your chance in the cellar and took it! Everyone knows what happened to your boy,” he continued. “They believed he caused the stadium collapse; they’ll believe this of him too! Rita would love to hear my story don’t you think?” he added before Harry had a chance to respond. “It’ll sell a lot of papers and when it’s all over, no matter what the conclusion, there will always be some who believe the “Great” Harry Potter was nothing but a common murderer because that’s … what … you … are! Think about it, Potter.” Malfoy swept in front of Harry and vanished out the Hall.  
           “What was that about?” asked Ron. Ron, Ginny and Hermione had waited behind for Harry and had obviously seen Malfoy talking to him. They had probably sent the rest of the family ahead to save them seats.  
           “I’m not sure,” said Harry still stunned by the accusation. “Malfoy just called me a murderer!”  
           “He did what?” exclaimed Ron angrily as he lurched towards the doors. Harry grabbed Ron’s arm keeping him in place. “And you let him go?” Ron added in disbelief.  
           “Yeah,” he replied. “Kind of…”  
           “He can’t just say that!” exclaimed Ginny defensively. “No one would believe him!”  
           “Actually, it sounded kind of convincing the way he put it,” replied Harry and he described Malfoy’s accusation to the others.  
           “So what are you going to do!” asked Ginny worriedly.  
           “Nothing, I think,” replied Harry thoughtfully as he reviewed the conversation in his head. And he told the others the rest of what Malfoy had said…  
           “But it doesn’t make sense, him sitting on a story like that and not passing it on,” said Ginny.  
           “Except recounting it would place Pettigrew’s death in Malfoy’s cellar,” reminded Hermione. “And it would only remind everyone that the Malfoys helped Voldemort up until the very end. People might think that whatever they did to help Harry shouldn’t be enough to keep them out of Azkaban,” she added thoughtfully.  
           “But you wouldn’t have said anything about Pettigrew anyway,” stated Ron. “Everyone knows you never talk about any of that so why mention it to you at all?”  
           “Except I would have talked to McGonagall,” replied Harry thoughtfully. “It is McGonagall, after all. And in this case, claiming ignorance could be very informative. I don’t know how that hand got here and that’s what I would have told McGonagall. But that could be enough for her to realize that Pettigrew never died at Hogwarts, enough for her to look for other answers…”  
           “Well, then, we shall just have to make sure she doesn’t ask you anything,” stated Ginny firmly. “You’d never be able to lie to McGonagall and telling the truth doesn’t sound like much of an idea either.”  
           "This whole situation stinks!” exclaimed Ron angrily. “Malfoy’s trying to force you into helping him cover the fact that he’s the one who brought the Hand here in the first place!”  
           “It would explain why Malfoy decided to come to the Ceremony today,” added Ginny thoughtfully.  
           “But if that were the case why did he insist the wands be destroyed?” questioned Hermione.  
           “Easy,” replied Ron promptly. “Once the original plan failed, Malfoy gets all the evidence destroyed and makes it look like he’s here to save the day! He just didn’t realize the fire wouldn’t be enough to destroy the Hand…”  
           “Could be,” muttered Harry thoughtfully, “or not…” Something didn’t feel quite right with that scenario. “Come on!” he added aloud, “let’s find our family and get some food.” And the four walked outside into the sunlight.

 


	39. Chapter 39

          While the children excitedly recounted their own personal experiences disarming the Slytherins, admired Conner’s sword and discussed O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T. preparations, Harry Potter pondered Malfoy’s words. Harry hated the idea of lying but whom did this lie hurt? The Hand had been destroyed so did it really matter? But Harry’s mind would not let the matter go. Since Pettigrew hadn’t died at Hogwarts, how did the Hand get to Hogwarts? Why?  
           Harry was positive Malfoy had not brought Pettigrew’s hand that morning. It would have taken longer to spread the Hand out to all the wands—how did one do that anyway? And if one assumed the presence of the Hand was behind much of the Slytherin excesses for the year then their disruptive behavior had begun long before the holidays… So Malfoy had not brought the Hand to Hogwarts when he presented that complaint to McGonagall. (They had all agreed the complaints were unwarranted and would be ignored.) And McGonagall had reported that was the first time she had seen Malfoy at Hogwarts, ever.  
           Of course, one didn’t need to go to Hogwarts to get something there… Malfoy had slipped Riddle’s journal in Ginny’s bag. Had he done the same to someone else? If so, who? When? Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy in Diagon Alley when there were lots of opportunities to do something like that. When else?  
           “Was Malfoy, uh, Senior at the Express last Fall?” Harry abruptly asked aloud. He suddenly realized he didn’t know the answer. He should know! He always saw the children off. “Why don’t I know?” he asked aloud more to himself than anyone else in sudden panic. Had he lost more memories?  
           “Of course you don’t know,” stated Ginny soothingly. “You were busy with your Aunt Petunia at the time, remember?”  
           “Aunt Petunia?” questioned James. “You mean that old lady was our aunt? Why didn’t you say so?”  
           “I’d forgotten at the time,” stated Harry, immensely relieved to learn he hadn’t been on the station to remember. “I’ll tell you about her later.” They all knew about the memory charm in the paper by now, but Harry hadn’t related any of the specifics… “But you haven’t answered my question,” persisted Harry. “Was Lucius Malfoy at the Express?”  
           “Yes, he was,” answered Hermione. “Why?”  
           “The whole family was,” contributed Ron. “Them and the Richards; lording about the station as if they owned it!”  
           “They were absolutely the worst on the train too!” added Hugo. “Ivy found a berth full of firsts and insisted they leave so their group could sit there instead.” Ivy Malfoy was Scorpius’ younger sister. She was a 2nd year like Hugo. “When they refused to leave,” continued Hugo, “she set off a stink bomb and locked them in!” Ivy sounded like a chip off the old block and Hugo was already calling her “Poison Ivy.”  
           “Excuse me,” stated Harry abruptly while rising from his chair. He grabbed his plate and stepped away from the table. “But there’s something I need to do.”

**********

          Lucius Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table eating. The table was filled with all sorts of breakfast and midday foods, and he was the only person seated, so Lucius had his choice. The quality was better than he remembered as the standard Hogwarts fare, but then, parents and guests were supposed to be eating too so Lucius guessed the selection was designed to impress the visitors.  
           Scorpius and Ivy were less than happy to see Lucius and had left with the rest of the Slytherin students rather than share a table or meal with him. They were angry at his interference and furious over the loss of their wands. They had clearly forgotten the first basic rule of a failed operation: Damage control! That meant distancing, removing evidence, assigning blame, scapegoating, creating plausible deniability, basically doing whatever it took to reduce or evade consequences and remain free to plot again…  
           The students didn’t realize it yet, or maybe that was one more effect of the Hand, but destroying the wands had given everyone instant deniability. Whoever thought up this hair-brained scheme and everyone who participated in it could now claim innocence: “The Hand made me do it!” Hopefully, the students would think to use the line when McGonagall started questioning them.  
           Lucius could have managed the story with just the destroyed wands and their _tainted_ bits of silver but finding and revealing Pettigrew’s hand had been a stroke of luck! If Lucius had been successful manipulating Potter, McGonagall would, at most, look for the one who _found_ the Hand at Hogwarts not the one who _brought_ the Hand _to_ Hogwarts, an infinitely more serious infraction… None of the students would point fingers once McGonagall started her investigation. As a result, Lucius was fairly certain the students would all receive a stern lecture about the evils of unfamiliar magic and be sent on their way. Considering the magnitude of what they had attempted in the name of the Dark Lord, the students were fortunate, indeed. Even if they figured this out, the students would probably never openly acknowledge what Lucius had done for them, but the parents would know and remember…  
           A sudden darkness overhead alerted Lucius to the presence of a second person. He looked up and saw Harry Potter move near and sit down next to him. Lucius was tempted to move away, but it was the _Slytherin_ table; Potter was the intruder. Lucius took another bite of food and pointedly ignored Potter.  
           “Pettigrew can “die” at Hogwarts, if that’s what you want,” Potter told Lucius. “But I’ll take my chances with a murder charge if McGonagall or anyone else suffers because of the lie,” he stated bluntly.  
           “Always the hero,” said Lucius with open disgust, but he smiled inwardly. Potter was falling in line. “But in this case that should be no problem. After all, did anyone blame Dumbledore for the presence of that “horror” within the Chamber of Secrets when it was released after 50 years? Basilisk, was it? Or so the rumours say… I suppose no one could expect more of McGonagall…”  
           Potter took a bite of his ham and chewed quietly. “You gave the Hand to Scorpius, didn’t you,” he accused softly. “Why would you do such a thing?”  
           Lucius took a sip of Butterbeer. Elfin wine was much better, but then, they wouldn’t serve that at Hogwarts. He set his mug down on the table. His strategies would keep McGonagall from hunting out the source of the Hand. Now he would have to persuade Potter to let it go too. “I didn’t,” he told Potter. Lucius took another sip and then added, “Pettigrew was vermin! The hand the Dark Lord made for him was suitable only for the piece of filth that was Pettigrew. If I had Pettigrew’s hand, which I didn’t, I would have tossed it like the piece of trash it was. That’s what you should have done!” he added maintaining the premise of Harry’s guilt…  
           Potter took another bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully. “Scorpius found it then and never told you,” Potter persisted. “I bet you’ve talked about the old days to your family as much as I have to mine; Scorpius found the Hand, didn’t know what it was... Then he took it to school…”  
           That was getting too close for comfort. “No, he didn’t,” answered Lucius firmly.  
           “How do you know?” insisted Potter.  
           “Because he told me!” snapped Lucius.  
           “And you _believed_ him?” asked Potter in disbelief.  
           “He would not _lie_ to me about this!” Lucius answered in a deadly voice.  
           “Who, then? Ivy?”  
           It wasn’t Ivy either, but Lucius would not tell such things to Potter. “The Hand moves!” answered Lucius instead. “It had thirty years to find its way into Hogwarts...” he suggested. “You will _not_ involve my family in this!” Lucius threatened. Even if it wasn’t Scorpius’ doing, the actual location of Pettigrew’s death would suggest both Scorpius and Lucius’ involvement. Pettigrew had to “die” elsewhere!  
           Potter nodded. “How, uh, are they?” Potter asked.  
           “Huh?”  
           “Your family,” clarified Potter. “How are they?”  
           Why was he asking? “Fine,” answered Lucius shortly.  
           “Any, uh, permanent damage?”  
           _Permanent damage?_ Oh yes, he had given that as a reason to destroy the wands… Probably not. But it was too soon to determine things like that! Nor did Lucius wish to talk about his family… “How’s Sir?” he asked changing the subject. Perhaps the mention of “Sir” would chase Potter off! If not, then Lucius could learn something he actually wanted to know…  
           “What?”  
           “Sir!” repeated Lucius. “How is he?” Lucius turned his head to look at Potter’s face so he could gauge Potter’s response.  
           “Sir’s, uh, dead,” answered Potter but his expression was not all that convincing. He really needed to work on that if he intended to lie on a regular basis…  
           “Not at Azkaban,” assured Lucius. “A personality that strong would never die in Azkaban and definitely not in June! Curious how Rita doesn’t share that opinion…” Lucius added speculatively. Lucius took a sip of his butterbeer, set the mug down again and then said. “Those missing 3 months of Wycliff, they were with Sir again weren’t they?”  
           Lucius hadn’t given Sir a moment’s thought until he had seen that tiny notice in the obituaries. Then he regarded the announcement with disbelief. It wasn’t Rita’s usual work. No huge biography, no commentary on the ineptness of a security system that let him die… While the embarrassment line provided by the Ministry was possible, it stank of conspiracy. Lucius had waited for follow-up reporting on the death or conspiracy but that hadn’t happened either. When Scorpius had commented derisively of Wycliff’s three-month absence, Lucius began to wonder if the two weren’t somehow connected… Sir had captured her once, why not again? Wycliff’s re-appearance meant the encounter did not go well for Sir, if that was what had happened.  
           “Know what I think?” added Lucius speculatively aloud. “I think you and Wycliff took matters into your own hands during those three months she skipped school… And it’s something less than printable…” Lucius watched Potter closely as he spoke. “Don’t know how you got Rita to cooperate,” he mused aloud.  
           Potter’s instant freezing of expression gave Lucius his answer. Wycliff and Sir were connected! That meant Rita’s article was bogus and she knew it! Rita had participated in the cover-up, whatever it was! Lucius smiled inwardly. What else could he learn?  
           “Did I accuse you of the wrong murder?” Lucius asked bluntly.  
           “What?” said Potter in confusion.  
           “Was it _Sir_ you murdered, not Pettigrew?”  
           “NO!” Potter blurted, “Ah, I mean yes, ah…” Potter was thoroughly flustered. No wonder. It had been a trick question. Any way Potter answered would have incriminated him… The instinctive “no” blurted out had told Lucius all he needed to know. Sir had not died at Azkaban and could still be alive.  
           “I didn’t kill Sir,” Potter hissed, clarifying himself, “and I didn’t kill Pettigrew! I’m no murderer!” he insisted.  
           “You don’t really expect me to believe that after all the work you went to cover it up, do you?” questioned Lucius.  
           “Yes!” said Potter shortly.  
           “And getting Rita to cooperate, too,” added Lucius. “I’m impressed! I didn’t think you could ever pull _her_ strings—but I guess she likes Wycliff.”  
            Abruptly Potter grabbed his plate and stood. “I’ll be going now,” he said stiffly. Potter had enough sense to know when he might say too much and this was clearly one of those times.  
            Lucius smiled inwardly. “Don’t you want to know what it did?” he asked seductively, his words stopping Potter from further movement. Leaving was what Lucius had wanted of Potter but now he had changed his mind. The temptation was too great. Could he get Potter to reveal more?  
           “What?”  
           “Pettigrew’s hand,” explained Lucius. “Don’t you want to know what it did?” The Hand was gone. It did no damage discussing it now, especially when he could use that information to his advantage.  
           Potter sat down again.  
           “Loyalty!” stated Lucius.  
           “Loyalty?” questioned Potter, surprised.  
           “Loyalty. Loyalty to the exclusion of all else,” continued Lucius. “To the Dark Lord, family, friends… And… the overwhelming _need_ to demonstrate that loyalty.”  
           Lucius had not realized he had been acting under the influence of the Hand until Crowley had suggested it. Then he recognized that uncharacteristic desire to go to Hogwarts and demand better treatment for Scorpius and the Slytherin students was more than righteous indignation… It had seemed right at the time, but later, after the grandchildren had returned to Hogwarts, Lucius had questioned why he had bothered; he knew McGonagall would do nothing. “Makes sense, don’t you think?” Lucius added. “That was all he required of Pettigrew…” Lucius took another sip of butterbeer. “The Hand snared the unwary and warped their actions,” Lucius added, “but it occurs to me that Sir might have been able to take charge of that Hand, redirect that loyalty to himself and give purpose to the demonstrations...”  
           Potter took a long gulp of Butterbeer before setting the mug down on the table. “I don’t think so,” he said quietly. Lucius waited. “Sir’s father worked at Gringotts,” Potter informed Lucius. “He didn’t stand by V-the Dark Lord at the Battle of Hogwarts and died in obscurity.”  
           _“Interesting,”_ thought Lucius. _“That wasn’t in the obituary. Had he (Lucius) met the father in a visit to Gringotts?”_  
           “Sir spent his life hiding behind different identities,” continued Potter. “No one knew who he was. Sir maneuvered behind the scenes and acted in secret. That kind of person would never command the open loyalty of others.”  
           “Perhaps, “ agreed Lucius aloud while wondering how Potter had obtained this information. However, nothing Potter had said changed Lucius’s assessment of Sir’s potential. Lucius knew better than Potter how the Dark Lord had inspired loyalty and how much he had done in secret behind the scenes. “But this is all empty speculation,” Lucius added, “as there is no hand for Sir to command…”  
           “And no Sir,” finished Potter firmly.  
           Lucius looked at Potter in surprise. There was a ring of truth to his words. Was it possible that Sir was indeed dead? But Lucius had been so certain… Potter was definitely hiding something. Perhaps Sir hadn’t died in Azkaban but had died just the same and Potter knew the details! That meant Potter was protecting someone else with his silence and the elaborate cover-up. Who? Lucius looked around the picnic area. His eyes fell on Holly Wycliff, sitting with the Owens…  
           _“No!”_ thought Lucius in disbelief. It wasn’t possible, was it? She was _Hufflepuff!_ She surely hadn’t the strength or will! On the other hand, Wycliff had more motive than anyone else and had been absent from Hogwarts for three months so she certainly had the opportunity...  
           Lucius took a long sip of butterbeer while he studied Wycliff. She no longer had that haunted look about her nor did she hide behind brightly coloured braids—only one remained. Wycliff carried herself with an air of easy confidence Lucius hadn’t seen last year at the Ball. Moreover, if the wizard seen with Wycliff at the near-riot outside Gringotts was Sir, Wycliff could be the last person known to see Sir alive… Suspicious to say the least.  
           “How’s Wycliff?” Lucius asked to test the idea. On the surface, it was an innocent enough question but when asked after discussing Sir, Potter might read more meaning into it, as he should…  
           Potter stiffened and took a sip of butterbeer before answering. “Fine,” he said without elaborating.  
           “Any, uh, permanent damage?”  
           “Damage?”  
           “You know, from her experience…” Last year or this…  
           “None that she’s mentioned,” answered Potter.  
           Potter frowned and abruptly stood up. “I’ve got to find McGonagall!” he said.  
           “Why?”  
           “There’s something else at the castle, something other than the Hand. We’ve got to make a search and find it!”  
           “What makes you think that?” There were probably lots of things but none as powerful as the Hand. Lucius knew from personal experience that almost every Slytherin student probably had something considered contraband in nature in his or her possession if, for no other reason, than to see if it was possible to hold and hide something…  
           “There was no silver on the wands at the Ball!” Harry exclaimed. “Pilkington would have noticed! Something or someone else must have made them behave that way…”  
           Lucius rolled his eyes upwards. Potter was _such_ an innocent. It was tempting to let Potter and McGonagall make fools of themselves by searching the School and grounds. Lucius was fairly certain there was nothing of significance to find but it wasn’t worth the added anger he’d draw from the Slytherin students and their parents. Such a search would undoubtedly turn up all sorts of other illegal things acquired during the school year getting the students into further trouble. “Sit down Potter,” Lucius ordered.  
           “What?”  
           “I said, sit down!” Lucius repeated firmly. “You don’t need to touch a flame to feel its heat!” he told Potter. “Once the Hand found its way into the Slytherin dorms they would have all felt it’s pull…”  
           Potter slowly sat. “Maybe that accounts for the Ball,” he said thoughtfully, “but not the rest. The Slytherin students have been harassing the other students all year, destroying papers, vandalizing, theft... You may not realize it, but the incidents are way higher than in previous years. None of that harassment has anything to do with either loyalty or demonstrating loyalty. It isn’t normal what they’ve been doing this year,” Potter continued, “so there has to be something else at work…”  
           “Don't you know anything?” replied Lucius with exasperation. “Harassing those who are not loyal _is_ a way to demonstrate loyalty. It’s punishment for failure to be loyal… That meant everyone at Hogwarts who was not Slytherin was fair game… If the harassment incidents still remain high next year, then make your search,” Lucius suggested. How did Potter know the harassment incidents were high in the first place? Why?  
           “Just the two I was looking for!” came the brisk voice of McGonagall as she strode forward. Potter stood hastily up. Lucius stood as well. He was taller than McGonagall. He preferred looking “down” on McGonagall than the other way around which would be the situation were he still seated.  
           “Yes?” inquired Potter.  
           “What do you know about Pettigrew?” she demanded.  
           Lucius felt himself tense. What would Potter say?  
           “Um, he’s dead, obviously,” answered Potter.  
           Lucius breathed a mental sigh of relief. So far, so good.  
           “I know that!” replied McGonagall tartly. “How did that Hand get to Hogwarts?”  
           “We were just discussing that very question,” stated Lucius smoothly before Potter could speak. “Did you know Pettigrew was an animagus rat?” Lucius continued on without waiting for an answer. He knew Potter knew about the rat part and would confirm it, if necessary. “I think he crawled away from the Last Battle,” that’s how supporters of the Dark Lord referred to the Battle at Hogwarts, “and sought shelter in the pipes of Hogwarts dying there.”  
           “Is that true, Potter?” McGonagall demanded of Potter.  
           “I never saw Pettigrew at the Battle,” stated Potter.  
           _“Damn!”_  
           “But then my mind was on other things…”  
           _“Good enough,”_ thought Lucius. Potter hadn’t lied but he wasn’t correcting either… Time to change the subject before Potter changes his mind and says something... “I insist every Slytherin student undergo a thorough examination by Healer Winonan to insure their health after this unfortunate experience,” Lucius stated aloud imperiously.  
           “Madam Pomfrey will do for now and concerned parents could contact Healer Winonan for a follow-up this summer if they think it’s necessary,” snorted McGonagall.  
           “That is unacceptable!” stated Lucius firmly though in reality, he suspected Madam Pomfrey could manage. There didn’t seem to be any lasting effects from his experiences. It wouldn’t do for him to agree with McGonagall, though. “I will be writing a letter of complaint about this,” he promised. “And what have you done about the wands?” he continued.  
           “Wands?”  
           “Yes, the students are in the midst of O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T. They need proper wands to complete their examinations. I will not have a simple mistake in judgment caused through outside forces affect their whole future!”  
           “I suppose we can make arrangements for them to borrow something…”  
           “I said _proper_ wands not some _stick_ off the street,” retorted Lucius. “We have already seen the damage that can be done with improper wands. And they need them now!”  
           “That can take time to arrange…”  
           “Then I suggest you begin making arrangements!” he commanded. “If they don’t have proper wands in time for tomorrow’s exams I will insist their exams be postponed…”  
           “I know it’s a weekday,” began Potter, “but perhaps you can grant the Slytherin students special permission to go to Hogsmeade today to acquire a replacement,” he suggested. “There’s an Ollivanders store there and they _do_ make the best wands…”  
           “And a discount!” added Lucius. “He’ll be getting a lot of business on this; we deserve a discount! Make sure he offers a discount!”  
           “I’ll look into it,” McGonagall said making no promises.  
           “And the first and second year students,” continued Lucius. “They need to get replacements too. They should be permitted to go to Ollivander’s as well.”  Ivy would never forgive him if Scorpius got his wand replacement before her…  
           “They can’t go to Hogsmeade,” sputtered McGonagall.”  
           “Alone? Of course not,” retorted Lucius. “But I’m sure you’ll agree this is a unique situation requiring an exception to the rules. I suppose _you_ would do as an escort in lieu of signed parent permission…” Lucius suggested grandly.  “And now, perhaps one of you would like to show me the Memorial Room where I understand the _glory_ of the Dark Lord’s Accomplishments are as vast as the _stars_...” Lucius paused a moment for a response. “No?” Lucius answered for himself interpreting McGonagall and Potter’s frozen faces as refusal. That was fine; he didn’t really want to visit a place commemorating the death of a lot of useless Mudbloods, a constant reminder of how close they had come... But McGonagall and Potter’s horrified expressions had been worth making the request. “Then I think I shall make sure my grandchildren have the finances necessary to acquire their wands… I presume you will notify the other parents accordingly… Good day.” And Lucius strode off as if getting new wands today was a done deal. It would be. If not Lucius would see that every Slytherin parent lodged a complaint and he would inform Rita as well. It was just the kind of thing she loved to write about for the _Prophet_. In the meantime, the prospect of new wands would do much towards repairing his relationship with Scorpius and Ivy…

**********

          McGonagall looked at Harry Potter after Malfoy vanished into the distance. “Well?” she asked expectantly. “Anything you’d like to add now that Malfoy’s gone?”  
           “About what?” asked Harry innocently. “Making it possible for the students to get replacement wands is an excellent idea, even if it _did_ come from Malfoy. The sooner they have proper wands again the sooner this mess will be over. I’m sure we can persuade Mr. Ollivander to help out… And perhaps some of the Professors would agree to escort the younger students to Ollivanders as a _field_ trip…” he added thoughtfully. “Field trips are not against the rules are they?”  
           “About Pettigrew’s hand!” McGonagall persisted.  
           “What about it?”  
           “How did it get here?”  
           “Haven’t the foggiest idea!” Harry answered promptly.  
           “Uh, huh!” snorted McGonagall in disbelief.  
           Harry sighed. “I have my suspicions, of course, but no proof,” he told her. “And you can’t make accusations about something as serious as this without a confession or some hard proof. We all saw the Hand move on its own,” he reminded her. “It could have gotten here from anywhere by anyone. Malfoy’s story is as good as any. Besides, it’s gone now. I don’t know that how it came to be here in the first place is all that important.”  
           McGonagall stared at Harry. He looked back meeting her gaze squarely. “I don't believe the aurors missed anything four years ago!” she stated stonily. That sweep had been conducted after they had found Tom Riddle’s plaque.  
           Harry looked away. He didn't think they had either. But he wouldn’t contradict Malfoy’s comments. That would require explaining much he didn’t want to talk about. The silence grew long between them.  
           “This one of those things you won’t talk about?” McGonagall finally asked in a softer tone.  
           “Uh, yeah,” Harry replied with relief knowing she wouldn’t try to pry further.  
           “I can’t let this go without consequence, Potter,” she protested.  
           “The wands?” Harry suggested faintly.  
           “That’s no consequence!” McGonagall snorted. “That had to be done; they were tainted! You don’t just tamper with a wand! It changes the balance, performance, everything! Who knows how Pettigrew twisted their thinking. They should have known better!” she continued angrily.  
           “Ginny didn’t know better when she found Tom Riddle’s journal in her bag…” reminded Harry softly  
           “Ginny was a first year at the time,” stated McGonagall dismissively. “They’re still learning then, but the older students, they should have known, especially the Prefects!” she added righteously. “Gruffudd and O’Shea not only agreed with all this but took part! They should have known better! We tell the prefects at orientation every year to look for contraband and suspicious items and get rid of them! They know magical items from unknown and questionable sources are dangerous!” McGonagall straightened suddenly. “This is _their_ fault!” she exclaimed. “They failed to follow the rules and endangered all the students! They should be expelled!”  
           “Not expelled,” protested Harry hastily determined to not let Pettigrew ruin any more lives. “If they leave Hogwarts, from whom will they learn? There are no—”  
           “—better professors than at Hogwarts?” interrupted McGonagall. “Yes, I’ve heard that before…”  
           “It worked, didn’t it?” answered Harry. “Did you hear? Crowley and Richards got married. She’ll keep him out of trouble…” and hopefully Anthony, too. For strangely enough, Harry believed Malfoy when he said Scorpius hadn’t done it. Ivy was too prissy. Harry doubted she would have found the Hand to her liking, let alone taken it to school to show off. That left Scorpius’ friend Anthony. He was the only connection to the Malfoys, the only reason why they might stand together at the station. Had the two boys spent the summer together at Black Mansion? Of course they had! When he wasn’t discussing the upcoming wedding after Pilkingon’s Ball, Richards had been boasting of their time at the Malfoys during the summer. That’s why the Malfoys and Richards were all at the Express together— “…lording about the station as if they owned it!” as Hugo put it. The Hand had already warped their behavior…  
           “They did? That’s good,” stated McGonagall thoughtfully. “Then perhaps I’ll do the same again. I’ll give the prefects detention and put them on probation!” she declared firmly. That’s what she had given Richards five years earlier. “And _all_ the Slytherins will need an escort to go to Ollivanders to get their wands; they can’t be trusted to behave responsibly on their own,” she decided aloud. “After which, the Slytherin students will be confined to their dorms except for meals and exams until the end of the school year. They should have known better!”  
           “All?” questioned Harry raising an eyebrow in surprise.  
           “All,” replied McGonagall firmly, “unless they tell me whose idea it was to put bits of Pettigrew’s hand on their wands…”  
           “They won’t do that, you know,” observed Harry.  
           “No,” agreed McGonagall, “but they all know who did it and I’ll wager they’ll make that person’s life _hell_ for putting them into this position!”  
           “They probably would,” agreed Harry guessing Anthony’s classmates would punish him, or whoever it was, better than anything McGonagall could devise…. Harry’s eyes lit upon Holly. She, Becky and the Owens were standing. It looked as if they had finished their meal and the Owens were about to leave... “Ah, if you would excuse me,” Harry said to McGonagall. “I’d like to have a few words with my cousin…”  
           “Of course,” agreed McGonagall. “I have to get busy anyway…”  
           Harry left his plate on the Slytherin table and walked over to Holly.  
           Holly noted his approach and stepped forward to greet him. “Cousin Harry!” she said warmly and stretched her arms around him.  
           “Hi there!” replied Harry returning the hug. “How are you?”  
           “Fine!” she answered releasing him.  
           Harry took a step back and looked Holly over. She did look fine—no circles under her eyes, no weight loss or other indications of ill health. “Your hand?” Harry asked worriedly while using his own to grasp her right hand gently turning it so he could see the markings easily.     When Holly learned what Gottenram had done, she refused to let the Healers look at her hand insisting it be left to heal without wizard assistance. She was certain the two kinds of magic would conflict somehow. Harry didn’t know about that but didn’t argue. Holly’s hand was no longer puffy or red as it had been when Harry had brought her back to Hogwarts from the holidays and seemed to have healed nicely. Harry could see the fine spidery lines of black outlining the cricket. Like other goblin work, it was beautifully done. If he hadn’t seen it done himself, Harry would have never believed the tattoo had all been made with a dirty fingernail. He wondered if it was more than a regular tattoo. “Any, uh, side effects from the hand?” he asked cautiously. Ron was certain goblin work meant goblin magic—always for the worst.  
           “No sir,” answered Holly without hesitation. She removed her hand from Harry’s and brought it out on display so they could both look at it while turning the hand back and forth in the sunlight. “But then, I haven’t been back to Gringotts yet,” she added thoughtfully. They all wondered what the goblin reaction would be should Holly step into Gringotts, or Diagon Alley, for that matter…  
           “That shouldn’t make any difference,” assured Harry aloud. How long had he worn that goblin-made band about his wrist with no ill effects? Hopefully it would be the same for Holly.  
           “That wand you touched,” Harry began, changing the subject. “What did you feel?” The Hand had been destroyed so it shouldn’t matter but Harry still wanted to know. “Was it Pettigrew?”  
           “No, sir,” Holly answered softly while staring fixedly at her hand. “It was … V-Voldemort!”  
           _Voldemort!_ Harry could feel his blood turn cold at the mention of his name. But it made sense—the hand had never truly been Pettigrew’s especially not the way it had turned on him in the end.  
           “A-and I think it recognized me!” Holly added in a fearful sounding tone.  
           “Recognized you?” Harry asked in disbelief. How could that be?  
           “Or recognized my connection to Pettigrew somehow,” she added, “because I definitely sensed “recognition” when I touched that wand. And when that blob of silver shot out, I was certain it was headed straight towards me!” Harry thought swiftly back. Yes, Holly _had_ been one of the students standing behind Conner. “I wasn’t sure if it was coming to join with me or … do what it had done before, you know, to Pettigrew…” Holly added uncertainly. That hand had killed Pettigrew. Harry had told Holly the truth about Pettigrew two years earlier to help her get rid of her Pettigrew flashbacks. The information hadn’t stopped the flashbacks.  
           Harry drew Holly into a tight hug. “Neither sounds very good,” he told her honestly. “I’m glad we’ll never have to know,” he added with relief thankful again Conner had done what he had done. Despite his words to Malfoy, Harry wasn’t so certain Sir couldn’t have put the Hand to use. He remembered Conner’s description of Sir’s persuasiveness when left “alone” with Paige, Rupert and Vernon. Harry was very glad indeed the Hand was gone. But Sir wasn’t, not really. Harry resolved to visit Sir at the first opportunity to reassure himself that Sir was no longer a threat…

 


	40. Chapter 40

          “Thank you for your efforts,” said Tom Richards sincerely to Wizard Malfoy. “I’m glad you were there to keep McGonagall in line.” Tom had volunteered to visit Wizard Malfoy to learn the particulars surrounding the destruction of the student wands.  
           Only the day before Tom had rolled over in bed and discovered the place next to him empty. Worried, he had gotten up and discovered Paige in the kitchen cooking. Paige was a whiz at cooking—“No different than mixing potions,” she had told Tom once. But she rarely cooked when someone else was there to do it and certainly not in someone else’s house. The two were visiting Tom’s parents, at Paige’s suggestion.  
           Tom stared bleery-eyed as Paige lifted a crempog off the griddle and placed it on the already high stack of crempogs, which was next to two large stacks of Singin’ Hinnies… She looked gorgeous in her silk green dressing grown protected by a darker sleeveless apron. Her long black hair was tied back with a light coloured scarf. On the nearby burner Tom saw a pot filled with steaming oatmeal. A wooden spoon gently stirred within. Then Tom looked at the food already on the table. He could make out an elegant Stargazy pie illuminated by the flickering light of a lone candle that sat in the middle of the table. There was a huge bowl haggis next to a platter of black pudding and sausage and a pan filled with corned beef hash. More platters lay on the table. Tom recognized one full of rumbled eggs, another filled with eggy bread, tattie scones, crumpets, and laverbread, and a third filled with grilled tomatoes and oatcakes.  
           “Hey!” said Tom softly to not startle Paige. “It’s scarcely daylight; what’s up?” Paige did not answer. She poured more batter on the griddle; it began to sizzle. “What’s going on?” persisted Tom.  
           “I was hungry,” Paige answered in her usual brief way as she continued pouring to make two more crempogs.  
           There was more to it than that. The last time Tom had seen Paige cook so much was the night before she granted Rita Skeeter an interview where she accused Witch Umbridge, “Auntie D.,” of casting an _Imperius Curse_ … Tom knew Paige had deliberated long and hard before deciding to make her private problems public. The students all thought breakfast was exceptionally good the next morning never realizing who had been the chef.  
           Tom stepped forward. “What’s wrong?” Paige had yet to admit she was an auror, but after both Potter and Thomas had stood by at their wedding, and the ceremony in no way conflicted with the auror vows (Tom checked) Tom was more than sure she was…  
           Paige flipped the crempogs expertly before turning away from the stove and looking at Tom. “It’s Memorial Day,” she whispered.  
           Tom blinked. “So?” he asked without comprehension. Memorial Day was the worst bit of drivel ever cutting into study time. Tom had been relieved to be rid of that annual early morning torture when he got out of Hogwarts.  
           Paige looked at the crempogs started to turn back towards them but Tom placed his hand on her shoulder stopping her. “I’m your husband,” he reminded. “You can tell me…” he coaxed.  
           Paige stood frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity and then she looked back at Tom. “I think the seven will try something again…” she said softly.  
           _"The seven? What? Huh? The seven!”_ There was only one “seven” this year—the seven who interrupted Pilkington’s Ball. Tom well remembered when he saw the seven march in wearing those hokey Death Eater costumes, then the shock and surprise when he realized one of them was Anthony!  
           “Surely they wouldn’t be so stupid!” protested Tom remembering the fear that gripped him when fully one half of those present had disarmed the seven without hesitation! The Slytherins at Hogwarts had always maintained the Ministry was weak and ineffectual; that was not what Tom had seen that night. If Pilkington hadn’t stepped in when he did, the seven would have surely been unmasked embarrassing family and friends or outright killed! If Thomas had been there the seven would have been sent to Azkaban for sure! They had all gotten off light indeed. Tom had intended to confront Anthony about crashing the Ball during the holidays, but somehow it had never happened.  
           “I think they will,” Paige whispered back. “The crempogs!” she exclaimed suddenly, “They’re burning!” she twisted out of Tom’s grip and hastily removed the blackened crempogs from the griddle. She tossed each in a nearby pot; the crempogs sizzled, crackled and vanished—the pot transported unwanted food to a Muggle pig farm somewhere supplementing the pigs’ diet.  
           “What’ll we do?” asked Tom. He didn’t question Paige further. If she thought the seven, including Anthony, would try something today then she probably had good reason. “They’re just kids!” he added helplessly. There’d be all sorts of aurors and Final Battle Veterans at the Ceremony. The students were doomed!  
           Paige set down the turner and leaned into Tom. “I’ve done what I could to help them,” she told him in his ear as he folded his arms around her, “but will it be enough?”  
           “Of course it will!” Tom assured Paige certain she could accomplish anything. And the two stood together in the kitchen watching the graying sky grow brighter and brighter knowing it was already too late to do anything…  
           The owl had arrived mid-afternoon. It gave few details. But while Tom’s mum and father ranted against the needed cost of a new wand, Paige and Tom had breathed a sigh of relief with the knowledge it could have been so much worse. A wand loss was a small price for what the students had attempted.  
           “It’s a good thing you were there to keep McGonagall in line,” approved Tom after Wizard Malfoy explained about the contaminated wands. “We are all fortunate you are still a Hogwarts Governor.” Wizard Malfoy nodded proudly. “But if I may be so bold,” continued Tom, “why aren’t you making use of that marvelous business opportunity?”  
           “Opportunity?” questioned Wizard Malfoy with a raised eyebrow.  
           “Yes,” continued Tom. “Your property on the corner of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It’s empty! What a perfect place to open a store…” Tom had learned a lot during their visits with the Malfoys over the summer and the holidays. The information had given him ideas… The dilapidated structure had sat empty since the days of the Dark Lord. No one would have frequented a business owned by the Malfoys after the Dark Lord’s death. Supporters of the Dark Lord considered the Malfoys traitors because they had changed sides somehow becoming instrumental in the demise of the Dark Lord. The rest of the wizard community treated the Malfoys with open suspicion because of their activities before “changing” sides. But recent publicity had changed all that. Last year Wizard Malfoy had “saved” the day at Pilkington’s Ball and now he had taken the lead in destroying a destructive piece of Dark Magic. The time was right to reenter society.  
           “What kind of store?” questioned Wizard Malfoy.  
           “The kind that caters exclusively to our interests,” Tom answered confidently.  
           “Our?”  
           “Slytherin, of course! Do you realize how annoying it is to visit shops filled with _other_ wizards? To have to tolerate their inane comments and be treated like … one of _them?”_ Tom shuttered as he spoke the word “them.” “We’re better than that,” Tom continued, “and deserve to be treated accordingly!”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. I’d like your permission to refurbish that store”  
           “Filling it with what?”  
           “Everything! Clothing, books, school supplies, toys and, of course, Paige’s potions.”  
           “With the exception of the potions, all that can be found elsewhere,” observed Wizard Malfoy coolly.  
           “True,” agreed Tom “but not all in one place. One store for books, another for clothes, a third for school supplies. Shopping is an all-day activity, weaving through crowds in the Alley and endless lines waiting your turn… We all have better things to do with our time unless you like to socialize…” Tom stopped, reconsidered and continued. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind socializing _if_ the person next to me in line was worth socializing with…” he admitted, “but how often does that happen? I propose putting together all the things that would appeal to a Slytherin family making it one-stop shopping for them. Wizards would pay more for the convenience, of course,” Tom admitted, “but the extra price will keep the riff-raff out and the savings in time and peace of mind would be well worth the expense.”  
           “So you wish to rent our space?” questioned Wizard Malfoy bluntly.  
           “If I must,” agreed Tom, “but at no charge until we get going—it’s not generating any income for you now so a wait for a few more months would be no financial hardship…”  
           “And then?”  
           “Well, a straight monthly rental arrangement,” began Tom thoughtfully, “or… a partnership where you get a percentage of the profits… Silent, of course.”  
           “Silent?”  
           “Certainly. You don’t want to be bothered by other wizards looking for handouts do you?” replied Tom confidently.  
           “And I won’t be embarrassed when you fail…” added Wizard Malfoy acidly,  
           “True,” agreed Tom, “But I won’t fail!” Ever since his marriage to Paige, anything seemed possible. “I’ve done my research,” he added confidently. “Have you heard of the Sidewinder Express?” Tom had had several rides in it recently; Paige had some sort of deal with the chauffeur… “It’s a sweet ride and very successful,” he informed Wizard Malfoy without waiting for an answer. “Witches and wizards willing to pay extra for that will welcome an exclusive place to shop.”  
           “Interesting,” said Wizard Malfoy thoughtfully. “I shall consider your proposal…”

**********

          “I’m done! I’m done! Done! Done! Done! DONE!” Holly Wycliff said excitedly as she burst into the room. “The O.W.L.S. are now officially over!” she announced happily as she set her bag down by the door. “I’m DONE!!!!! DONE!!!!! Winky!” she added in the same breath. A house elf in a snowy white pillowcase and a tomato red nose immediately appeared with a loud _“crack.”_ “Last chance to polish the organ!” Holly sang out. “I’m done! Done! Done! Done! DONE!” A red polishing rag appeared in one hand of the elf. Winky immediately hopped onto the charred bench and wiped the sooty keyboards clean. Then she climbed up onto the smoky pipes and began to rub. The surface beneath her rag gleamed a golden bronze.  
           “How did you do?” questioned the Portrait of Headmaster Snape. His painting was hung at eye level opposite the organ.  
           Holly turned towards the Headmaster, looked blankly a bit and said. “Who cares? It’s over!!!!! I’m done! Done! Done! DONE!” she sang again.  
           The Headmaster snorted and curled his lip up in obvious disapproval.  
           “I don’t know!” exploded Holly in frustration. “I studied a whole bunch!” she told the headmaster. “But lot of it was stuff I only learned through the books and notes because I missed it the first time around and notes are never as good as hearing it… And it was hard to concentrate during the reviews in class when I came back what with all the things the Slytherins were doing…” Holly paused thinking about the year. Then she added. “After a while, all the words and numbers seemed to merge together, especially in history. I think I did O.K. in potions, at least the extra credit part ‘cause they were asking about poisonous plants and I knew all my hexes and jinxes… I really nailed the Defense against the Dark Arts practical!” Holly finished cheerfully.  
           “The tester liked your patronus?”  
           “Oh, yeah!” agreed Holly with satisfaction. “But the eucalyptus smell made Scorpius next to me start coughing and he blew whatever spell he was trying to perform at the time,” Holly added in a regretful tone. “But then he quickly cast a bubble head charm to avoid the smell and that impressed his tester so I think Scorpius got extra points for that.”  
           “How are the Slytherins?”  
           “The Slytherins?” questioned Holly. “Oh, fine, now!” she replied confidently. “Or, rather, as fine as they ever used to be,” she amended. “I can’t believe it never occurred to me there was something wrong with their wands,” Holly continued in nonstop chatter. “I mean I knew the spells didn’t feel right when they hit me and their emotions were more negative than they used to be but I never thought something was actually _wrong_ with them…”  
           “You knew something was wrong and you said nothing?”  
           “I didn’t know it was outside magic,” argued Holly. “I just thought they had gotten nastier than I remembered.”  
           “And you didn’t think that was unusual?”  
           “Well, no, not really.”  
           “Why not?”  
           “It could have been me!” Holly replied defensively.  
           “You?”  
           “Yeah, you know, hormones or stuff!”  
           “Hormones?”  
           “Yeah. Healer Winonan said my skills might improve or change when I got older and with practice,” Holly explained, “and after all that time with Sir, I just thought that my abilities probably, well, changed… and I just felt things more intensely.”  
           The headmaster stared at Holly in stony silence. Then he asked, “When was the last time you’ve been tested?”  
           “NO!” Holly replied immediately. “NO! NO! NO! NO!!!! That’s all Sir did was testing, testing, testing! Like I was some lab rat! Do you realize Sir had all my papers from St. Mungo’s too? All the test results of whatever Healer Winonan had asked me including the Timmons baby! I’m not letting anyone test me ever again! I don’t want anyone to know what I can and cannot do!”  
           “Seriously?” scoffed the Headmaster. “The whole school already knows!”  
           “What do you mean?”  
           “I heard you were the one passing word about the attack in the Great Hall before it happened!”  
           “But their emotions were screaming so loud it was impossible to miss!” Holly said dismissively.  
           “And all those other times you warned your classmates that the Slytherins were up to something? Were they equally loud _screams?”_  
            “How did you know about that?” asked Holly in surprise.  
           “Did you think McGonagall was entirely _clueless_ about the student activities at Hogwarts?”  
           “Uh…” Holly blinked in surprise. She had been so busy doing her part to minimize Slytherin excesses she had never once thought about what Headmistress McGonagall and the Professors were doing all that time…  
           “She chose to not interfere because it appeared that your strategy actually worked enabling the professors to spend more time on instruction than discipline… But that is besides the point,” continued the Headmaster. “Every time you gave your classmates an alert you were, in effect, telling them what you could do. If you truly think they could not figure out things from there then you were deluding yourself and the only person who does not know what you can do is _yourself!”_  
           Holly gulped. No, she hadn’t realized that.   
           “You need to get tested,” insisted Headmaster Snape.  
           “No!” refused Holly.  
           “There is no reason you shouldn’t know what everyone else already knows!” argued the Headmaster. Holly shook her head resolutely. “You noticed there was something wrong. Didn’t consult anyone to figure out things further and the whole school suffered needlessly because of _your_ inactivity!” the headmaster continued relentlessly. “I expected more from the girl who let a _goblin_ (his lip curled up into a disapproving sneer as he said the word “goblin”) tattoo her hand to prevent a war!” he finished cuttingly.  
           Holly gulped guiltily. She could feel the tears stream down her face.  
           “When was the last time you’ve been tested?” asked the Headmaster again.  
           “Um, maybe three years ago?” she answered softly. After that, the flashbacks had taken precedence.  
           “You were a second year, right?” questioned the Headmaster. Holly nodded reluctantly. “You have most certainly grown since then. And your abilities will have certainly changed too. It does not matter whether the change is due to Sir or hormones or both; your abilities _have_ changed. You do yourself an injustice when you don’t know what those changes are,” he told her. “If you cannot recognize what is normal within yourself, how can you recognize what is _unnatural_ in someone else? You _need_ to get tested,” he insisted.  
           Holly sniffed and nodded. “Yes, sir,” she whispered and rubbed the tears from her face. But she knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t bear to be tested ever again. Just thinking about it made her feel positively ill. “Would you like to hear some music?” Holly asked brightly in part to change the subject and that was really one of the reasons why she was in the Room of Requirement anyway.  
           “If you must,” Headmaster Snape grudgingly replied. Holly ignored his half-hearted response while she twisted her hair up into a bun. That’s what he always said when Holly wanted to practice the organ. The headmaster reached down below the portrait frame and pulled up a set of emerald green ear-muffs. The organ music sounded loud in the Room of Requirement—apparently too loud even for portraits…  
           “This’ll be my last time on an organ for a while,” Holly chattered while she wound her hair into a bun and put on her own ear-muffs—baby blue with pink bows this time. “When I get home, I’ll have to make do with the neighbor’s piano. It’s not the same as an organ, you know, with only one keyboard and three pedals, but it’s O.K…” “Maybe I should ask father to get me an organ to play at home,” Holly mused while sorting through the music. “Maybe not,” she decided aloud. “It wouldn’t be the same. I’m sure there are double keyboard organs out there for sale, but I doubt anything thing could match the sound of these beautiful pipes.” Holly looked affectionately up at the series of pipes that stretched high into the vast ceiling above. Several of them now gleamed brightly in the candlelight due to Winky’s efforts. “Becky and Mark would be here with me, except they have to pack too, and their stuff is all in the dorm…” Holly added while she placed some music on the stand. “I promised I wouldn’t take long, but I really wanted to play a bit more… I always feel so much better afterwards.”  
           Holly sat down on the bench. She felt the weight of Sasha leap onto her lap. Holly automatically felt for her head and rubbed the cat under her ear; Sasha began to purr loudly. Sasha was under a disillusionment charm. It was safer that way. No one bothered Holly about the cat being in class or places where she shouldn’t when they couldn’t see her… Holly picked up the knitted purple and green hat she found on the organ bench and carefully fitted it over Sasha’s head. She made sure it covered Sasha’s ears and then tied the string under Sasha’s chin. The hat served as earplugs for Sasha and was the only way Holly would let Sasha join her in the Room of Requirement while the organ was there. The hat looked a little weird without being able to see Sasha but it still worked.  
           Holly stuck her wand under her ear wedging it between her head and the muff and directed it forward and towards the left. Whispering a flutter movement command, Holly started the bellows of the organ. They wheezed in and out smelling of eucalyptus with every puff. Then Holly pushed and pulled out several of the stops as called for by the music. When she finished Holly looked up at Winky. “You ready?” she called out.  
           Winky looked down at Holly, “Yes, mum,” she answered cheerfully and then returned to polishing.   A bright red cleaning rag poked out of each of her bat-like ears.  
           Placing her hands on the keys Holly began to play. Three hours later Holly lifted her hands from the keyboard and removed the wand from behind her ear. The bellows slowed to a stop. Holly’s fingers were tired but she felt relaxed, calm and at peace--her mind was filled with the reassuring strands of music she had once heard from an iPod at Meadowsgate. Everything was fine when she heard those songs, even if they did sound a bit different performed on an organ.  
           Holly couldn’t begin to describe her joy when she found sheet music in the Room of Requirement for the melodies spinning through her head from Meadowsgate. Afterwards, Holly had been her happiest at school when in the Room of Requirement trying to duplicate that music on the organ. The organ wouldn’t be at home but Holly smiled knowing the music would be waiting for her anyway. She had spent a long time with Vernon over the holidays getting him to find and duplicate the songs for her own iPod. Holly had to promise Vernon that she would keep the volume on low though.  
           “I suppose I should go,” Holly said aloud reluctantly as she removed the hat from Sasha’s head. She set the hat down on the bench. “I’m sorry for snapping so earlier,” Holly apologized to the portrait of Headmaster Snape after he removed his ear muffs.  “It’s just that this is something I feel very strongly about…” She aimed her wand at the portrait.  
           “Hummph,” snorted the Headmaster. “Of course, you young people always know what’s best for you…” he replied sarcastically.  
           “In this case, I do,” answered Holly firmly. _“Wingardium Leviosa!”_ she shouted and the portrait lifted gently off the wall and into the air. “Are you sure you’re O.K. with this?” Holly asked the floating portrait worriedly. “I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want… You can stay here,” she added sincerely. “It’s bound to be boring in my bag all summer.”  
           “Like it isn’t boring in the Room of Requirement when it is not required?” asked the Headmaster dryly.  
           “Um, yeah, I hadn’t thought of that,” said Holly rather guiltily suddenly wondering what happened when she left the room, “but you still don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,” Holly added aloud.  
           “I’m sure I can manage,” assured the Headmaster.  
           “And the other,” Holly asked worriedly as she opened her bag with her free hand. “It’s not like we asked… Are you sure you’re O.K. with it?”  
           “You _are_ asking!” reminded the Headmaster. “And yes, I am “O.K.” with it, as if it really mattered.” His lips curled up in a familiar sneer.  
           “Oh, it does,” Holly assured the portrait. “It does! You just say the word and we won’t…”  
           “Which I shall do the moment it seems necessary,” the Headmaster interrupted dryly.  
           “But, what if I don’t hear you?” Holly questioned worriedly. “Can I hear you from inside the bag if you change your mind? What is it like inside an extendable bag anyway?” she added curiously.  
            “I would guess the interior of the bag is … black,” answered the Headmaster bluntly. “And if I change my mind I shall tell McGonagall, who will undoubtedly tell Potter who, I presume, will tell you.”  
            “McGonagall?” questioned Holly surprised. “But how—oh yeah, I forgot you can move to a different frame… Then you won’t be bored in the bag at all!” she exclaimed happily. “That works! See you later!” Holly slid the portrait into the extendable bag and closed it shut. “I’m leaving now,” Holly told Winky. Winky jumped off the organ and landed lightly next to Holly. She hadn’t finished cleaning off all the pipes but, then, Winky had never managed to do that in the time Holly practiced the organ. Bag in hand, Holly opened the small door next to the organ behind the bellows and stepped back. A cloud of black smoke poured out of the doorway while Holly drew her wand. _“Lumos!”_ she commanded firmly when the smoky air cleared. The tip of her wand lit up. Bag in hand, Holly stepped through the doorway using her wand as light. Winky followed. This particular passageway led to the Hufflepuff library. Soon Holly was back with her friends in the dorm.

 


	41. Chapter 41

           “That wasn’t so bad was it?” asked Ravindra cheerfully.  
           “Yes, it was!” argued Holly Wycliff while stifling another urge to vomit.  
           “Oh,” said Ravindra in a disappointed voice. “It’ll get better, I promise!”  
           “Only because I’ve nothing left to spit up!” countered Holly. They were in Healer Winonan’s office doing, of all things, _testing!_  
           Despite Holly’s firm assertion of “no more testing,” Headmaster Snape had other ideas. Once Holly had closed the bag over his frame, he had apparently returned to Headmistress McGonagall’s office and had a word with another Headmaster, Headmistress, more accurately—one who apparently had a portrait in St Mungo’s. That Headmistress had a word with Fiona, who had a word with Healer Winonan, who immediately sent an owl to Cousin Harry…  Cousin Harry met Holly at the Express and informed her that their plans had changed; they would be paying a visit to Healer Winonan before being dropped off with her parents.  
           “Why do I have to see him?” questioned Holly.  
           “I don’t know,” answered Cousin Harry. “But he said it was important.”  
           “I’m fine!” protested Holly.  
           “You look fine to me,” agreed Cousin Harry. “You sure you don’t know what this is about?”  
           “No.” denied Holly. “Unless…”  
           “Unless what?”  
           “Well, the Headmaster thought I should get tested last night and I told him I wouldn’t… But we were in the Room of Requirement at the time and I can’t imagine that has anything to do with whatever Healer Winonan wants…”  
           “Hmmm. Did you know Headmistress Dilly also has a portrait at St. Mungos?” Cousin Harry asked in a neutral tone.  
           “You think they talked to each other?”  
           “It’s possible.”  
           “But why?”  
           “That, I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and ask the Healer…”  
           They found Healer Winonan in the halls waiting for their arrival.  
           “I don’t care what you say,” began Holly firmly. “I’m not going to let anyone test me!!!”  
           “Why don’t you step into my office where we can discuss this privately,” suggested the Healer. He opened the door to his office and Holly saw Ravindra Vasari casually seated on the cot.  
           Ravindra was once a Ravenclaw Prefect, had dueled regularly against Holly at Hogwarts and was now an auror. Ravindra looked up from the huge opened book in her hand at Holly’s arrival. “What are you doing here?” Holly asked Ravindra.  
           “I’m here to help you test!” Ravindra announced cheerfully. That’s when Healer Winonan grabbed Cousin Harry’s hand, pulled him out of the office and closed the door securely leaving Ravindra and Fiona behind to persuade Holly to let herself be tested…

**********

          Just because Ravindra Avani Vasari had held Holly’s hand when she described her experience with Sir did not mean Holly was any more inclined let her conduct tests. But it did mean Ravindra knew more than most what Holly had endured at Sir’s hands. She took Holly’s fears seriously and tried to accommodate them while still insisting Holly get tested.  
           “So don’t tell anyone the results,” persisted Ravindra. “I’ll even keep my eyes closed if you’d like,” she offered. “These tests are really for you not me. You need to have a base line of information so you can tell when there are differences or something unusual. According to Healer Winonan, there are no records at St. Mungo’s of you having ever been tested, so no one will ever know if you have gotten better or worse from when you were first diagnosed as an Empath or anything at all about your abilities. No one but you.” Odd that there weren’t any records at all. Healer Winonan surely would have done some testing before Holly started having flashbacks…  
           Ravindra hadn’t known anything about Holly’s reluctance to get tested until Healer Winonan had spotted her on the second floor doing research on magical bugs and diseases. Winonan told Ravindra that he needed her for “official” business and whisked her down to his office. “Official” business could mean something auror in nature, or not. Ravindra’s internship at St. Mungo’s meant she was now qualified to assist in medical matters under a Healer’s supervision. Once in his office, Healer Winonan explained the basics of the situation, handed her a list of testing topics and a heavy book titled _Unique Magical Abilities_ opened to the section titled _Empaths._ Then he told Ravindra to wait there until he brought Holly in…  
           The section was woefully small filled with guesses and speculation and quickly finished. Ravindra discovered she knew more about Empaths from her observations of Holly than the author of the book. While waiting, Ravindra learned more for the situation from Fiona. How Headmaster Snape had sent a message through Headmistress Dillys that Miss Wycliff needed to be tested immediately as her inactivity had somehow contributed to the recent Pettigrew’s Hand mess…  
           “But you’ll still know and there’ll be a record!” Holly wailed. “Sir got those last records!”  
           _“He had? How? How did Holly know?”_ After his arrest, the only _official_ update Ravindra had received concerning Sir was a small note in December stating Sir was no longer a “Person of Interest.” Later Ravindra saw the obituary notice, which she had a feeling was inaccurate because she doubted Sir would ever die so quickly in Azkaban… But what had actually happened to Sir?  
           “Just walked in and took them out, or ordered someone to do it!” Holly continued. “Doesn’t matter. It happened once, it’ll happen again! I don’t want anyone to know _anything_ about me and I definitely don’t want that information all in one place where someone can easily get it!”  
           Ravindra frowned at the news Sir had gotten into St. Mungo’s so easily. She would have to talk with Healer Winonan about improving security. Then she smiled. “That’s probably because your records weren’t classified properly!” she answered cheerfully. “The auror records are stored much differently. No one has ever gotten to them! We put your records with the Auror ones and they’ll be totally safe!” she assured.  
           Ravindra went on to explain that she had two sets of medical records at St. Mungo’s: her regular ones and the auror ones. Any injuries or matters pertaining to her duties as an auror went in the auror files and everything else stayed in the regular ones. No one looking through her regular files would ever realize she was an auror as well. “And as far as me saying anything,” continued Ravindra, “I’m magically bound to not reveal any patient information because I’ve worked here as an intern—and as you’re here as a patient, that includes you! Only Healers can discuss patient information,” Ravindra added in explanation. “So, can we do some testing?”  
           Holly hunched up and shook her head.  
           Ravindra sighed. “Tell me about Hogwarts,” she said. There was something more to this. Holly had gone for two years without testing and now, all of the sudden, Healer Winonan wanted it done? Holly or someone must have said something within Headmaster Snape’s hearing to start all this and that had to have been in the office of Headmistress McGonagall at Hogwarts...  
           “Hogwarts?” questioned Holly. She looked up at Ravindra; her eyes glistened brightly and Ravindra could see wet streaks on Holly’s cheeks.  
           Ravindra pulled out a tissue and wiped Holly’s face. Then she settled herself comfortably on the cot and drew Holly down next to her. Suddenly Ravindra felt a wisp of something light and feathery brush against her arm—what? Sasha? _Invisible?_ When had that happened? Why? “Hogwarts,” repeated Ravindra firmly as she reached onto Holly’s lap and rubbed an invisible ear and head reassuringly. No, Sasha wasn’t exactly invisible, probably a disillusionment charm... “Start with when you returned to school in November.”  
           Ravindra hadn’t started reading the _Prophet_ upside-down until a Ravenclaw parent had mentioned the activity was all the rage at school… Ravindra couldn’t imagine who Sir or Holly were when she read their names scrawled on the _Prophet_ pages, but when she remembered, she headed to the Ministry immediately to inform Wizard Thomas! Ravindra got as far as the secret auror entrance to Wizard Thomas’ office when Roland DeWitt suddenly materialized. He must have been under a disillusionment charm and was obviously waiting for her. “I figured that memory charm wouldn’t hold you for long,” he began not even bothering to ask why Ravindra was there. “Holly’s fine and we’re taking care of it,” he told Ravindra bluntly. “Could you ask the rest of the Ravenclaws who remember to keep quiet for now?” he added. “We don’t want Sir to know what we’re up to…” So Ravindra had kept quiet.  
           In mid-November the memory charm no longer appeared in the _Prophet’s_ pages and Holly returned to school as if nothing had happened… Ravindra hadn’t made inquiries then because both Roland and Wizard Thomas had made it very clear that Holly’s activities outside of Hogwarts were “off limits!” Healer Winonan, on the other hand, had made it very clear it was essential Holly get some kind of testing. So if knowing more about the summer became necessary to convince Holly to test, then Ravindra would not hesitate to pry.  
           “Not the Empath stuff, if you don’t want to,” Ravindra assured as she continued to stroke, “just school. You can do that much, can’t you?” Holly sniffed and nodded. Hopefully, whatever Holly said would give Ravindra a clue as how to proceed next.  
“What was it like coming back and having everyone look right through you?” Ravindra asked softly to get Holly talking. Ravindra knew Holly had returned to Hogwarts before the effects of the memory charm had totally worn off.  
           “Kind of weird,” answered Holly. “But at least they left me alone, not like they did the other students.”  
           “They?”  
           “The _Slytherins!”_ replied Holly and she twisted the beaded bracelet around her wrist tightly as she spoke. And Ravindra learned for the first time the extent of the Slytherin harassment the students had endured all year, or, at least, from November on. Ravindra had heard bits and pieces before through articles in the Prophet and parent comments, but not such a complete account…  
           Ravindra ran her fingers through Holly’s long hair and idly began braiding strands of Holly’s hair while Holly rambled on about school all the while fingering the beads on her bracelet. As Ravindra expected Holly was unable to keep the Empath parts out completely. Holly did seem to try, though. She described her adventures with the Centaurs while not mentioning why they gone so far into the woods in the first place. Ravindra raged with Holly about the poisoned water.  
           When Holly described the duels for Sasha Ravindra was unable to keep silent. “You mean the spells hurt more than you expected?” Ravindra exclaimed. Holly nodded. “And you didn’t say anything?”  
           “Why?” questioned Holly. “We all knew the spells hurt more. It’s not like they were doing anything different for me; it’s just the way things were.”  
           “And you didn’t think it was unusual?”  
           Holly shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t usually get hit by spells except when I dueled with you guys, and you don’t use hexes… Healer Winonan said my skills and abilities would change as I got older,” Holly added. “I just thought their skills and abilities had changed too.”  
           “I suppose,” said Ravindra uncertainly. She’d never thought of things that way.  
           “Besides,” Holly continued, “we were so busy trying to keep the Slytherins in line after that that I didn’t have time to worry about such things...”  
           Ravindra completed the braid she was working and started a new one before speaking again. “You made some assumptions about your abilities this year,” she began. “They could be correct, but you don’t know for sure… Not even now. The Headmaster’s right,” Ravindra concluded softly, “you need to get tested.”  
           “I know,” Holly agreed in a whisper while twisting her bracelet tightly again around her wrist. “They might have found that hand sooner if I had only spoken up, had insisted it was more than usual Slytherin behavior. But I didn’t know...” Holly sobbed guiltily as she spun the beads on her bracelet back and forth. “But the thought of testing,” she continued, “I’m so scared… All Sir ever wanted to know was what I could feel! He had all sorts of notes on me too! Like I was a lab rat! Doing something like that voluntarily is so—I think I’m gonna be sick!” Ravindra grabbed the office waste-basket and quickly stuck it under Holly’s chin. It was just in time. Holly began to vomit.  
           “Sir isn’t here,” Ravindra reminded when Holly stopped. There was one bead missing from the number of beads Ravindra had added to Holly’s braids last year. Ravindra wondered what had happened to it. “We aren’t going to hurt anyone to make you feel,” she promised. “It’ll be O.K…” Ravindra assured as she pulled some stray strands of hair out of Holly’s face and considered her next move. She was certain now she could get Holly to test but didn’t want to push, didn’t want to be like Sir, so she changed the subject. “What did you know?” Ravindra asked curiously.  
           “Huh?”  
           “About the Slytherins,” reminded Ravindra. “What did you know about them that could you have said?”  
           “Nothing really, just a difference,” Holly answered thoughtfully. “It was there when I came back. The Slytherins were more, well, _Slytherin_ somehow. But what’s the harm in that?” she asked aloud. “They’re Slytherins after all.”  
           “True. And you never said anything?”  
           “No, well, maybe, I mean I agreed with the others that they were worse than usual but nothing else… Why would I?” she asked defensively. “It was only something I noticed in the morning anyway; it could have been my imagination! And I had so much catching up to do…”  
           “What about to the auror students?” Ravindra knew Holly dueled regularly with the auror students.  
           “I didn’t duel with them in the Fall,” Holly explained. “James and Lawrence didn’t even know me when I got back… I’m sure Jeremy Corner did,” Holly added thoughtfully, “’Cause he’s Ravenclaw and all the Ravenclaws seemed to know I was there, but I’m not supposed to know Corner outside of class. So we never talked.”  
           “Madam Pomfrey?”  
           “Oh, never!” exclaimed Holly. “It’s not like I was sick or anything. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” she emphasized.  
           “Mr. Potter?”  
           “It never came up,” Holly recalled. “We were thinking of, ah, other things when I got together with Cousin Harry…” She held up her wand hand and looked at the spidery drawing on its back. She was obviously referring to the Gringotts Affair.  
           Wizard Thomas had scheduled a Holiday party that day and requested all Ministry employees and their families attend. Ravindra was not on “duty” at the time so she went to Diagon Alley. There, she heard a whispered suggestion that Gringotts was the place to be… So Ravindra had joined the crowds going to Gringotts. It was clearly a Hufflepuff operation of some sort given the number of Hufflepuffs in attendance. Ravindra knew it was something serious when she saw Mr. Potter and Holly walk in with those grim faces. When Holly spoke, it was like setting a match to a powder-keg! And when they started discussing “No interference, no reprisal,” Ravindra was certain it was a life or death situation where there was a good chance Holly might not return alive. No one relaxed after the four vanished beneath Gringotts; no one spoke. They just kept vigil, waiting. Ravindra waited with them wondering what would happen next. Everyone cheered when the four returned from the meeting with Gottenram but no one would explain what it was all about, not even Roland, who was clearly in the middle of things.  
           “After the Holidays?” persisted Ravindra. “You said the spells hurt! Why didn’t you say something then?”  
           “But the emotions were stronger too,” explained Holly. “Much stronger. Professor Lovegood has always said _will_ has much to do with the success of spells. I just figured the stings went with the stronger wills…”  
           “Did you really think that?” questioned Ravindra. There was a kind of logic to it but still…  
           “No, not really,” Holly admitted in a small voice. “But it was better than the alternative…”  
           “Alternative?”  
           “That the goblins did it.”  
           “Goblins?” This was something new. Ravindra waited for a further explanation.  
           “You see this?” Holly said holding up her tattooed hand. Ravindra nodded. The fine spidery design was beautiful. She’d seen the wrapped up hand at Gringotts and wondered what hid beneath.  
            “It’s a cricket,” Holly told her. “The Hufflepuffs, well, they kind of went off the deep end when they saw it,” she told Ravindra. “They were OK when they thought it was just a cut to draw blood but when they realized it was a tattoo, they got all worried that it was more than a tattoo, that I’d been affected somehow by goblin magic. They wanted me to get it removed and hovered around me worried that any time I sneezed it was caused by the magic in the tattoo… If I had told them about the pain I was suddenly feeling from the spells, pain that hadn’t been there before the Holidays, the Hufflepuffs would have been sure it had to do with the tattoo.”  
            “Was it?” questioned Ravindra.  
            “I don’t know!” exploded Holly. “I don’t think so. Cousin Harry, he didn’t seem to think it would be bad for me… And he backed me up when I wouldn’t let Healer Winonan put any potions on it, but I don’t know for sure…”  
           “And you never tried to find out for sure?” asked Ravindra appalled.  
           “No,” came a tiny voice. “If I had told Professor Lovegood about the stings, she would have referred me to Madam Pomfrey who would have contacted Healer Winonan and he, well, he wasn’t very happy when I insisted on letting it heal naturally—he would have wanted to remove the tattoo…”  
           “Seriously?” scoffed Ravindra. “Professor Lovegood would have turned your question over to the auror students and made it a class project to find out! And as for Madam Pomfrey and Healer Winonan, no matter what they personally thought, they would have never actually tried to remove your tattoo without Mr. Potter’s consent, which, as you already said, he probably wouldn’t have given! Did you even tell him what was happening?” Holly gave her head the faintest of shakes. “And as for the rest of the Hufflepuffs, they care about you, Holly; they would have let up on the hand thing once they knew for sure it wasn’t hurting you.”  
           “Maybe,” conceded Holly, “but at the time…”  
           “You could have talked to Becky or Mark,” persisted Ravindra. “They would have respected your feelings no matter what… Why didn’t you?” Holly didn’t answer.  
           “You can’t do things alone,” Ravindra reminded Holly. “You’re a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs are at their strongest when they—”  
           “Work together,” finished Holly. “Yes, I know. And it’s true. But what one Hufflepuff knows, they all know, well, mostly,” Holly conceded. She held up the back of her hand and turned it back and forth as if examining the tattoo critically. “My Empath stuff—Sir,” she continued softly, “he’s like a wolf circling the pack picking off the weak and unwary for his needs.”  
           _“He’s!”_ thought Ravindra suddenly, _“Like “he is!” That sounds like Sir is still alive! Was it possible?”_ Ravindra longed to ask but didn’t.  
           “Sir visited Becky last summer,” Holly added. “Learned everything about where I was and what I was up to. He could have killed her! Would have, except he thought she might make a useful hostage…” Holly lowered her hand and looked directly at Ravindra. “The Hufflepuffs can’t protect everyone,” she concluded aloud. “I won’t put my friends at risk! It’s better they know nothing about that stuff, better they know nothing that could be passed on...”  
           “But that leaves you all alone,” mourned Ravindra aloud. There was something wrong with Holly’s assessment. It didn’t feel right. Holly shouldn’t have to keep secrets and hide from her friends just because she was an Empath.  
           Holly shrugged. “I’ve been alone before,” she told Ravindra as if it were no big deal.  
           “Oh, Holly!” Ravindra exclaimed while wrapping Holly in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry!” Ravindra was certain something horrific had happened to Holly yet again last summer, something no one would talk about.  
           Holly hugged Ravindra back while crying openly. “It’s O.K.,” Holly sobbed. “It’s all over now.”  
           “No it isn’t,” argued Ravindra. “Did you tell Becky that Sir got all his information from her?”  
           “Oh, no, I couldn’t!” exclaimed Holly. “She’d be devastated if she knew she caused every thing that happened last summer!”  
           “Becky didn’t do any of it!” corrected Ravindra firmly knowing the fault lay with Sir. “But since you didn’t tell her anything, she doesn’t know to add extra security measures around her family to protect against this sort of thing from happening again. Some friend you are!”  
           “No!” whispered Holly in obvious agony. She clearly hadn’t thought of that possible consequence.  
           “Keeping secrets is Sir’s thing,” Ravindra reminded. “He set off that portkey explosion so no one would know he had you! Then he put that memory charm in the paper! When you don’t tell anyone what is going on in your head, don’t ask for help, you are playing right into Sir’s hands. Or, someone like him,” Ravindra added assuming Sir was no longer a threat. “Keeping secrets endangers your friends and isolates you; it creates fear and mistrust of the very people you need most. Alone, you had no one to bounce your ideas off of, no one to make alternate suggestions and no one to give you a reality check! Alone, you made some stupid decisions. You are making yourself the straggler that is easy prey for the wolf you are so afraid of…” Ravindra concluded using Holly’s own choice of metaphors. “You should have mentioned how the Slytherins were “more Slytherin” right off,” continued Ravindra.  
           “But it could have been—”  
           “Your imagination?” Holly nodded. “That’s doubtful. You may have no faith in yourself, Holly, but those of us who know you know you’re not given to flights of imagination. You’re fairly solid in your empathic impressions and you’ve never ever exaggerated or even joked about the things you’ve sensed. And it wasn’t an improvement of your abilities either!” she told Holly.  
           “But—”  
           “But nothing! An actual improvement of your abilities would have been across the board—the Gryffindors should have felt “more Gryffindor” and the Ravenclaws “more Ravenclaw” somehow too. But they didn’t. So it wasn’t you! Had you said something, Holly, perhaps no one would have realized Pettigrew’s hand was out there crawling about, but they might have been looking for the cause of the changed Slytherin behavior instead of just complaining…”  
           “But I didn’t know…” sobbed Holly.  
           “Of course not,” scolded Ravindra. “No one expects you to know everything. But you have the wealth of the Hufflepuff knowledge at your fingertips. Had you said something, someone would have thought of the same thing I just told you and everyone would have been put on the right track much sooner. You’re a Hufflepuff, Holly, and Hufflepuffs work best _together!”_ she repeated. “Trust in that and _then_ everything will be O.K.”  
           “I’ll try,” Holly sniffed.  
           “Good,” approved Ravindra. “Now, about your security concerns—the risk to your friends and people who … know things. That should be brought to the attention of the Hufflepuffs. It’s real and affects everyone. Together you will find a solution,” she assured Holly. “I can tell Mr. Potter to contact them for you today, if you’d like,” Ravindra offered. “Or Roland…”  
           “Roland would be better, I think,” replied Holly thoughtfully.  
           “Perfect,” declared Ravindra. “I’ll let him know as soon as we get out of here. Now, what do you say we settle this goblin question?”  
           “How?” questioned Holly.  
           “That’s easy!” Ravindra quickly drew her wand, pointed it at Holly and said, _“Steleus!”_ Her spell hit Holly squarely on the chest and Holly began to cough. Past experience dueling against Holly had taught Ravindra that she had to move fast before Holly could interpret the emotions she felt…  
           “You _hexed_ me!” exclaimed Holly in surprised and disbelief when she could again speak.  
           “Mum hum!” agreed Ravindra “and at a real close range too! The spells can’t get much stronger than that. Well?” she asked expectantly.  
           “Well what?” asked Holly. “You _hexed_ me!”  
           “Course,” replied Ravindra without shame. “Did it hurt?”  
           “Hurt?” sputtered Holly in confusion.  
           _“Apis aculeum!”_ shouted Ravindra suddenly. Holly screamed as her face suddenly went all puffy.  
           _“Finite!”_ said Ravindra a minute later undoing the spell.  
           “You hexed me _again!”_ Holly repeated through tears.  
           “Well, how did it feel?” asked Raindra again.  
           “How do you think?” exclaimed Holly angrily. “Like I’ve been stung all over! How could you—”  
           “But did it hurt like it did with MacAra?” persisted Ravindra.  
           Holly froze! Her tears dried up instantly and any complaints died on her lips. “No!” she whispered thoughtfully. “Hers stung more somehow; it’s hard to describe but the spell still hurt even after she cancelled it…”  
           “And Higgs’ coughing hex?”  
           Holly closed her eyes in thought. “That was worse too,” she decided. “And he was further away! My chest hurt so bad afterwards I could barely breathe.”  
           “Well, there you have it!” exclaimed Ravindra cheerfully. “It’s not your hand!”  
           “It isn’t?” questioned Holly in disbelief.  
           “Nope!”  
           “Just like that?”  
           “Yep. If your abilities had been affected by the tattoo, then it follows that you will feel the same effect each time you experience the same spell and you didn’t. Hence, the tattoo did not affect the effect you felt. Wasn’t that easy?”  
           “Um, yes,” answered Holly with a hint of red creeping up her neck. “But … you _like_ me and they did—”  
           “Didn’t?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “Doesn’t matter. You think your hand knows the difference between spell casters?”  
           “Um, maybe?”  
           “No problem. We can ask Higgs or MacAra to cast their spells again… I’m sure they’d be happy to help… They’re probably worried anyway that they can’t cast those spells without Pettigrew’s _help_...”  
           “I’ll pass,” laughed Holly.  
           “Don’t,” said Ravindra seriously. “Tell Professor Lovegood and bate them into it if necessary, next year. You need to be sure in your mind.”  
           “O.K.”  
           “You’d better mean that,” warned Ravindra. “I’ll be checking up on you!”  
           “O.K.,” agreed Holly.  
           “Good,” Ravindra said as if that was settled. “Now the next time you’re worried about that tattoo just send me an owl,” Ravindra instructed. “Even if it’s some eency weency question, send me an owl. I won’t get mad or laugh it off,” she assured. “Or if your hand feels unusually hot or cold or suddenly moves and you didn’t tell it to, something like that, send me an owl and we’ll figure it out together. O.K.?”  
            “O.K.,” answered Holly. “Except I don—don’t have an owl…”  
            “I don’t suppose you do,” agreed Ravindra thoughtfully. “No matter. A letter by post works too. I’ll give you my home address so you can write me any time you feel the urge.”  
            “O.K.”  
            “And as for “will and intent,” Ravindra continued. “Yes, they are a very important part of spell casting. But they are an important part of casting a spell _correctly_. Once properly cast, a specific spell should work the same for every witch or wizard, young or old, casting the spell. Any changes in the way a spell works comes from variations in the way the spell is cast. However, you said there were no variations in the way they cast their spells. So what you felt from the Slytherin students was definitely unusual. Be sure to let me, or Professor Lovegood know immediately should something like that come up again.”  
           “Yes ma’am,” replied Holly meekly. “I’ve uh, made a muddle of things, haven’t I” she asked guiltily.  
           “Not necessarily,” backtracked Ravindra. “But things might have turned out differently had you spoken up. And on that note, I suggest we get the rest of the testing over with so you know what’s what and we can both get home.”  
           “O.K.” agreed Holly reluctantly.  
           Ravindra pulled out the list of test topics Healer Winonan had left behind and resolutely went through each one with Holly. Holly had the worst time discussing anything Sir had wanted to know earlier. But Sir seemed to be interested in mostly the basics—gender, ailment, location and distance. Then Ravindra tested Holly’s abilities determining symptoms that Healer Winonan had apparently given Holly to work on. Finally, they discussed anything else Holly and Ravindra could think of that was related to her Empath talent. Selective blocking was now second nature to Holly. Ravindra also discovered that while Sir may or may not have increased Holly’s Empathic abilities, a half a year keeping track of Slytherin antics had done much to refine the abilities she had. Holly could now keep tabs on four maybe five Slytherins at once in a classroom and not only know who needed watching the most but when! The Slytherins had inadvertently fine tuned Holly’s skills to a point Sir could have never obtained through coercion.  
           There was a sticky moment when Holly noticed Fiona rapidly writing away on a parchment while they talked. “But you said you wouldn’t keep any records!” Holly protested.  
           “I’m not,” pointed out Ravindra. “Fiona is. And she’ll keep everything safe.” Ravindra then got Fiona to show Holly the stack of scrolls stored inside the covered bucket in the corner of her painting—the auror medical records.  
           “No one has ever gotten past me!” Fiona boasted to Holly. “Though I did worry a bit with Harry Potter!” Holly reddened.  
           What was Harry Potter doing with Fiona? Ravindra longed to ask but didn’t. She knew neither Holly nor Fiona would talk; she’d have to figure it out on her own.  
           “Only someone with proper authorization can look at the auror records,” informed Ravindra, “and if Fiona has any doubts about opening those records for anyone, she doesn’t have to. Right?”  
           “Right!” agreed Fiona. “I won’t even tell Healer Winonan what went on here unless there is a medical need to know…” she assured Holly.  
           “Promise?” asked Holly worriedly.  
           “Promise.” With that assurance, Ravindra and Holly continued on with the testing. When the two (three counting Fiona) ran out of things to discuss or test Fiona swung open the frame of her portrait and let Holly and Ravindra out. They found Mr. Potter on the other side sitting in a chair across from the opening.  
           “Well?” he asked anxiously as he stood up from his chair.  
           “Holly’s fine!” announced Ravindra cheerfully, “but rather hungry. As am I and while the hospital food isn’t all that bad, I’d rather get my meal somewhere else,” she announced.  
           “The testing?” Mr. Potter inquired worriedly.  
           “All taken care of,” assured Ravindra. “Holly now has a baseline of information we can refer to should the need ever arise.”  
           “That’s good,” replied Mr. Potter.  
           “Furthermore, there is no indication that the markings on Miss Wycliff’s right hand,” Mr. Potter stiffened at the mention of Holly’s hand, “are anything more than a very lovely tattoo,” concluded Ravindra firmly.  
           The stiffness melted out of Mr. Potter. “I am indeed glad to hear that,” he said warmly. “Thank you so much for taking the time to help us.”  
           “No problem!” replied Ravindra cheerfully. “That’s what interns are for…” _“Was this an intern job or an auror one?”_ wondered Ravindra absently not that it really mattered. She’d have done it for Holly no matter what. _“Auror one,”_ she decided firmly. “That’s why the paperwork was filed with the aurors…”  
           “Thank you again,” said Mr. Potter. “Holly? It’s time we get going. Your parents are waiting…”  
           “Thank you,” said Holly and she gave Ravindra a tight hug. She took a step towards Mr. Potter and then stopped. “No!” Holly exclaimed. “We can’t go just yet. “There’s someone I want you to meet-uh see…” Holly looked up at Mr. Potter. “Please?” she said to Mr. Potter.  
           He looked down at Holly. “If you think so,” he answered gravely.  
           “I do.” Mr. Potter nodded his head and entered the room nearest Fiona’s entrance. “Come on,” said Holly taking Ravindra’s hand and pulling her into the room. Mr. Potter closed the door behind them and turned the lock. He then ignored the single cot and chair in the room and walked to the far side where Ravindra saw a narrow door in the wall.  
           _“Alohomora!”_ said Mr. Potter while pointing his wand at the door lock. Then he put his wand away and opened the door. He stepped aside, letting Holly and Ravindra go first, and then closed the door behind them locking it securely.  
            Holly let go of Ravindra and drew her wand. _“Lumos!”_ she whispered holding her wand up to light the way. The scent of eucalyptus filled the air.  
           _“Lumos!”_ echoed Mr. Potter holding his own wand up high as well.  
           “Follow me,” Holly told Ravindra and began walking down a narrow corridor. Ravindra and Mr. Potter followed. The corridor had bare walls and ceiling made of huge stones and no visible openings for side doors or windows. A heavy dark blue carpet bearing the Hufflepuff crest covered most of the stone floor and muffled the sound of their steps. The corridor twisted and turned three times ending at a set of steps leading down. Without hesitation Holly continued down the steps. There weren’t that many steps, fifty-three, to be exact. Holly stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her way blocked by a heavy wooden door. Mr. Potter handed Holly a heavy gold key, which she used to unlock the door. She pushed the door open and it swung inward with a loud groan. Holly waited while Ravindra and Mr. Potter entered the room; then she stepped inside carefully closing and locking the door behind them. The room they stood in was small and square with huge stone walls, one of which was covered by thick drapes.  
           Holly moved to the side of the curtain and let the light of her wand go out. Moments later the curtains were pulled aside revealing window that looked into a familiar room with padded floors and walls filled with huge moving pictures of lights, flowers and baby animals.  
           “That’s Mr. Henderson!” exclaimed Ravindra in surprise looking at the person seated in the middle of the room. Today he was happily batting bubbles that streamed out of a Weasley Bubble Blowing Dragon placed on one of the shelves.  
           Holly left the curtain, moved next to Ravindra and took Ravindra’s hand tightly in her own. “Mr. Henderson has amnesia,” stated Holly in a low, calm voice though the hand that gripped Ravindra seemed anything but calm. Holly’s fingers dug into Ravindra and seemed to tremble.  
            Ravindra already knew about the amnesia. She first learned about Mr. Henderson over the holidays when she was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom looking for ideas on helping them recover and had spotted an intern carrying a wrapped package sporting a huge green bow down the hall. Curious, Ravindra followed and saw the brightly decorated nursery with a man wearing black and white panda bear pajamas seated in the middle watching a baby’s colour ball spinning overhead. “Hello, Mr. Henderson,” the intern said cheerfully. “I’ve got a present for you.” The intern placed the package in front of the Mr. Henderson. He looked at it blankly so the intern unwrapped the package he brought. “Look!” the intern exclaimed to Mr. Henderson while holding up in one hand a pair of blue sweat pants and a bright red t-shirt decorated with a smiling caricature of a dinosaur in the other. “I’ve got you some pants and a top! Like them?” he asked and then added cheerfully without waiting for an answer. “Now you won’t have to wear pajamas all day!” The intern then removed the hospital clothing from an unresisting Mr. Henderson, pulled the t-shirt over his head and helped the man into the pants.  
           Already interested in the Longbottom situation, Ravindra had, of course, read through Mr. Henderson’s medical records and pondered his history…  
           “I know how much you like puzzles,” continued Holly in a grave sounding voice, “but this is one you should not spend time trying to solve…”  
           It wasn’t quite a request, but close enough. Why? Why did Holly care? Ravindra looked from Mr. Henderson to Holly, her solemn face staring intently through the window at Mr. Henderson all the while gripping Ravindra’s hand tightly. Then Ravindra looked at Mr. Potter. His face was grim as he too, stared at the person on the other side of the window. The suggestion Holly made was no joke. What could make the two of them so— _Sir!_  
           Ravindra returned her attention to Mr. Henderson with his childlike expression, sandy coloured hair and blue eyes… She closed her eyes remembering the physical description of Sir she had memorized and a sketch of a face that went with it… Ravindra opened her eyes and again looked at Mr. Henderson keeping the description and picture in mind. Same height and build… Similar facial shape… Eyes right. The hair colour was different but that was easy enough to change… Nor did the description mention tattoos or the silver earrings he now wore but the tattoos could have been added later as had been the rings… Similar yet different. Was it possible? Why hadn’t she thought of him before? Those tattoos and earrings were distracting but could she be looking at the results of the Hufflepuff plan Roland had hinted at so long ago outside of Wizard Thomas’ office? Ravindra looked again at Holly and Mr. Potter—at their grim faces that stared at Mr. Henderson through a secret window from a secret viewing room... It was very possible—more than possible! Ravindra decided. And if that was indeed Sir she was looking at, then it was a very good idea that he not remember the things he had done—or he would surely try to repeat them!  
           But if Mr. Henderson was Sir, then the medical records were a complete fabrication. What had actually happened? It could not have been legal. Who had done it? Would that person or persons be prosecuted? They should be! Wizards just could not do this kind of thing to others without consequence. But then again, Sir shouldn’t have done what he had done either… Which was worse? What next? Ravindra had sworn to fight dark wizards but the person before her was surely not dark, or was he?  
           “Can you sense his emotions?” Ravindra questioned Holly suddenly.  
           “Yes,” she answered in a low voice.  
           “And is he—?”  
           “What you see…”  
           That was something. Sir had been dark, but what sat in front of her stacking blocks wasn’t. As long as the amnesia remained he was no threat. Should she inform Wizard Thomas anyway? She’d gotten that notice that Sir was no longer a “Person of Interest”… Did that mean Wizard Thomas already knew? Had he approved? But all this was speculation. Without proof Ravindra could not take action and nothing could be proven without Holly’s testimony. Would she? That was doubtful or Holly would have done so already. Even if they proved that Mr. Henderson was in fact, Sir, he couldn’t be sent to Azkaban, not like this.  
           “No one has stepped forward claiming to know Mr. Henderson,” informed Mr. Potter in a neutral sounding voice interrupting Ravindra’s thoughts, “and if Mr. Henderson himself cannot remember his past, then it must not be a past worth remembering. Perhaps it would be best to focus on what Mr. Henderson could _become_ not what he was…”  
           Become? That was an odd choice of words. Could Sir become anything but what he was? Or was he now a blank slate to be written on and, as Mr. Henderson, could be _better_ than what he had been? If that were the case, then knowing he was once “Sir” could have adverse effect on that slate.  Ravindra smiled. “You’ve presented me with an entirely new puzzle,” she told Mr. Potter. “Is it “once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin?” or does “family and upbringing determine how one is sorted?”  
           “We shall have to wait and see,” replied Mr. Potter in a calm voice, “and _watch!”_ he added grimly.  
           Ravindra nodded. “I’d need a key for that,” she told him. “I wouldn’t want to affect the outcome…” Nor could she greet Mr. Henderson in innocence knowing what she now knew. As soon as she got home Ravindra resolved to destroy the sketches she’d made of his tattoos originally intending to pass them about in search of the artist… She didn’t want to know anything about who had done what now.  
           “That can be arranged.”  
           The tenseness in Holly’s body standing next to hers seemed to relax. Holly released Ravindra’s hand altogether and instead gave her a tight hug. “Thank you,” Holly whispered.  
           “No problem, little sister.” And Ravindra returned the hug warmly.

 


	42. Chapter 42

          “Anthony?” began Mrs. Paige Brenna Crowley. “Could you stay behind for a few minutes? There’s something I’d like to ask you.” The family meal was finished. Tom and his parents left with other things to do leaving Paige alone with Anthony. Paige had arranged it this way.    
          That satisfied smirk on Anthony’s face when they greeted him at the Express told everyone that Anthony considered his near brush with death nothing more than an adrenaline rush, an adventure to be repeated at the first opportunity. Anthony had gotten away with it once; he thought he could do it again. That attitude had to change and soon!  
           “I was wondering if you would be interested in helping Tom run his new store,” Paige began.  
           “Sure!” agreed Anthony readily. “How much is he paying?”  
           “No pay,” answered Paige calmly.  
           “And why would I work at Tom’s store for no pay?” questioned Anthony imperiously.    
           “For several reasons,” replied Paige coolly. “He’s your brother and you love him,” she began. “He loves you too and would feel honored to have your assistance,” Paige continued. “It’s the right thing to do after Tom paid for your replacement wand and a way to atone for all the trouble you’ve caused the family this year…” Paige watched Anthony carefully as she spoke and could see that none of the traditional Gryffindor type excuses would hold weight with him. “The success of this store is important to Tom,” she added. “And if you don’t volunteer your help, then you’ll be spending your summer locked up in your room memorizing wizard laws and penalties concerning the use of dark magic!”  
           “What?!” exclaimed Anthony in surprise. “Whose idea was that?”  
           “Mine,” admitted Paige coolly. “But your parents agreed.”  
           “Why?”  
           “They seemed to think learning the consequences of dabbling in Dark Magic would prove a deterrent from doing it again…” Paige doubted that. Knowing the penalties would deter nothing; Wizards who used Dark Magic never expected to get caught. Locking Anthony up for the summer was the important part. It would keep him out of trouble for two more months. Learning Wizard law would give Anthony something appropriate to occupy his time while in his room.  
           “Why would I—“ sputtered Anthony.  
           “I’ll be testing you on the laws and penalties,” Paige continued firmly as if Anthony hadn’t spoken.  
           “Why?”  
           “To make sure you understand them,” Paige explained patiently. “I want to make sure for myself that you understand exactly what will happen if you are ever found dealing with dark items.” Paige fixed her eyes on Anthony and spoke slowly to impress upon him her seriousness.  
           “Why?”  
           “Because if I ever find anything dark in nature in your possession or actions I’ll haul you down to the Ministry myself and turn you in!” Paige informed him coldly.  
           “You _wouldn’t!”_ Anthony exclaimed in surprise and disbelief.  
           “No, I wouldn’t,” agreed Paige. “That’s what will happen if someone _else_ finds you dabbling in dark magic. If _I_ found you involved with dark magic I would _kill_ you and bury your body before anyone else found out!”  
           “What! You can’t mean that!”  
           “I do!”  
           “But I’m like, related! You know, your brother-in-law!”  
           “Exactly!” answered Paige. “It’ll be quick and clean—more than you deserve and kinder than your other alternatives.” Paige had thought long and hard about this. She could use a potion to incapacitate Anthony as was done to Sir, but then they’d have an imbecile to care for and explain. He’d have to be hidden away the rest of his life, an embarrassing secret for others to ferret out and a visible reminder of what could have been. No, death was much better.  
           “You’ve seen the aurors!” Paige continued aloud. “You think you can stand up to them? I don’t. In fact, I _know_ you can’t. They’ll bring you down without hesitation. No matter who brings you in, there’ll be all sorts of embarrassing publicity and legal expenses. You’ll be tried in a full wizard court. Groveling, begging and pleading will get you only so far and then someone will insist it’s your second offense, counting your experience with the hand as your first so you’ll get sentenced to Azkaban prison. Only the strongest survive there. And then their minds tend to go. You’ll be a broken shell when you get out, _if_ you get out.”    
           “That’s not true,” protested Anthony. “What about the Great Prisoner Escape? They weren’t broken!”  
           “And where are the escapees now?” countered Paige. _“Dead!_ Bellatrix Lestrages was reputed to be one of the most powerful witches in her day, yet her experience in Azkaban left her so unbalanced that a _middle-aged_ _Gryffindor_ took her down! Do you think you can do better than her?  
           “Malfoy survived!” countered Anthony.  
           “Barely. Have you any idea of the ridicule and embarrassment the family suffered while he was there? The _stigma_ of him having dealt with the Dark Arts and _failed_ has plagued the family ever since. A proud and proper family _shunned_ because of a mistake made 30 years ago! I would see you _dead_ first than _ever_ let Tom suffer that kind of humility!”  
           Anthony’s face turned a chalky white at the threat with good reason. Paige meant every word. Her vow wouldn’t stop her. In fact, if Paige thought Anthony was going “dark” her vow _required_ her to stop him ... Better sooner than later and under conditions she could control. Anthony had felt the touch of Dark Magic, that boost of artificial energy and false confidence. He’d seek it out again if not stopped. Nothing short of certain death would ever stop him.  
           “I’ll put word out that you went to the Americas to find your fortune to explain your disappearance,” Paige continued aloud, “and that you married an American _Muggle!_ No one will question why we have nothing to do with you…” The shame of a Muggle marriage was much less than being related to an Azkaban convict. “Your death will save the family the shame and embarrassment of having a _failed_ Dark Wizard in our midst.”  
           Paige leaned over and casually picked up the Wizard Law book she had placed on the floor near her feet. “You can begin with chapter three,” she told him and shoved the book in his direction. “I’ll be back in an hour to review what you’ve learned. If you’re not here or in your room when I return, I will _hunt_ you down to conduct the review,” she threatened. “It’ll give you a taste of what to expect if you turn dark…”  
           Anthony gulped. He looked down at the book and back at Paige. “I’m afraid I can’t do it,” he said in a quavery kind of voice.  
           “Oh? Why?” Paige said menacingly.  
           “Uh, I’ll be helping Tom with his new store, for free…”  
           Paige moved to book away from Anthony. “That’s very fraternal of you,” she said in a calm approving voice. It was a good recovery on Anthony’s part, a little bravado too. There may be hope for him yet. “Tom will be so pleased,” she added aloud. Now, for the carrot, such that it was. “With you helping out, Tom will have time to petition Governor Malfoy to arrange make-up O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T. for any student who wishes to re-take them and I’ll be able to help you prepare. I received an “Outstanding” in all my O.W.L.S.”  
           Anthony scowled. “I don’t need to re-take my O.W.L.S.!” he told her scornfully.  
           “Of course you do,” countered Paige. “You spent the year planning mischief not preparing for the O.W.L.S. Even with a proper wand, there is no way those test scores reflect your _true_ abilities.” If Anthony’s scores were too low, he wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts and would be blocked from high paying careers. The Dark Arts would appear even more attractive to Anthony under those circumstances. Paige did not want that to happen. It should be easy enough to get Malfoy’s support in a retest proposition as Scorpius was in the same position as Anthony. Paige thought she could get Potter’s support too. She was certain the two could pull whatever strings were necessary to make re-testing happen. “But we can wait with the tutoring,” Paige added aloud. “It’s more important that you immediately apologize to McGonagall and Thomas for your part in what happened this year.”  
           “WHAT?!” exploded Anthony. “I WILL NOT!”  
           “You will,” replied Paige calmly. “It’s the perfect opportunity to practice your acting skills.” She knew no apology from Anthony would be sincere; he regretted nothing at the moment. “You need McGonagall as a reference for any Ministry position. And you need Thomas to approve any security checks,” she added in explanation. “You can claim everything you did this year was due to the influence of the hand and express sincere regret at having been taken in by its shiny appearance. But if you wait too long your apologies, no matter how sincere, will appear flat and phony. Acknowledgement now protects you and us from blackmail attempts at a later date.  
           “Blackmail?”  
           “Yes. Did you think your activities went unnoticed?”  
           “But nobody said a word!” protested Anthony.  
           “To McGonagall or Thomas? Of course not. Where was the benefit? But every Slytherin at Hogwarts knows what you did at school and without the influence of the hand to keep you all silent, one of them is bound to talk the first time it seems beneficial. Remember all the Slytherins at Pilkington’s ball?” Paige added. “Those people there to _honour_ Wizard Malfoy and support _me?”_ she reminded angrily. “Several of them are bound to have recognized you too! One of these days one of those guests will come up to you and promise “silence” in exchange for money or some other favor. You cannot forge your own career with the threat of blackmail hanging over you. Don’t worry, I’ll coach you,” Paige promised. “McGonagall and Thomas are only Gryffindors,” she reminded. “You should be able to convince them of your remorse and sincerity easily. The most you’ll get is a stern lecture of some sort and should anyone else try to blacken your name by mentioning things that happened this year, Thomas and McGonagall will be the first to step to your defense.  
           Now, apologizing to Pilkington will be a bit more difficult…” Paige continued thoughtfully.  
           “You want me to apologize to Pilkington, too?” Anthony asked in disbelief.  
           “Of course. You _owe_ him for not filing charges after the Ball. Pilkington may not be as easily persuaded by a sincere apology,” Paige mused aloud.  “Your actions adversely affected his livelihood. You might have to offer to help out in his office as part of your apology.”  
           “Seriously?”  
           “Yes. Offering to help out makes you look good and may net you some valuable contacts.”  
           “Charity cases?” Anthony asked sarcastically.  
           “Pilkington is not impoverished,” Paige told him. “He obviously has _paying_ clients as well but he _never_ talks about them. The only way to learn who they are is to be his assistant. You’ll also have a chance to observe Pilkington in action”  
           “In action? Him?” scoffed Anthony.  
           “Yes. Pilkington looks and acts like a bumbling fool but his skill in dealing with others is most impressive. He has never lost a case and got the seven of you out of a room filled with angry armed aurors using a simple apology,” Paige reminded. “He’d be a formidable Slytherin if he weren’t so … _honest!”_ she grimaced as she said the word.    
           “We should let your parents and Tom know of your decision to help out,” Paige suggested changing the subject and rising from the table. “They’ll be so pleased.”  
           “Uh, yeah,” agreed Anthony rising also no doubt pleased at the opportunity to escape Paige’s company.  
           The two left the room to find the others. Letting Anthony loose in Diagon Alley was a risk; numerous peddlers would approach him hopefully with dark or near dark items for sale. Paige intended to watch Anthony closely. Better to learn now than later if her tactics had succeeded.

**********

          “Open it!” demanded the stern voice of grandfather.  
           Scorpius Malfoy licked his lips nervously. “I can’t,” he confessed apprehensively. Grandfather had never been so cold before, positively scary.  
           After the students had filed out of the Great Hall on Memorial Day, Scorpius had joined with the other students blaming his grandfather loudly for getting their wands destroyed. Grandfather bore their rants without a word and then, when he neared Scorpius had hissed venomously, “Shall I tell McGonagall who brought the _hand_ to Hogwarts?”  
           “No, Grandfather!” exclaimed Scorpius involuntarily. “It wasn’t me, I _swear!”_ After that, Scorpius had kept his distance, avoiding Grandfather even when he had brought money for a replacement wand.  
           When the Hogwarts Express rolled into Kings Station, Ivy was welcomed with open arms by their parents. Scorpius had received a lukewarm welcome by his parents and was then unceremoniously turned over to his Grandfather.  
           Without a word Grandfather had taken Scorpius to his mansion. Grandmother was nowhere about. After a brief meal and time to unpack, Grandfather had led Scorpius to a door and ordered Scorpius to “open it.”  
           “Can’t or _won’t_?” questioned Grandfather acidly.  
           “Can’t!” denied Scorpius firmly.  
           Suddenly grandfather hissed some sort of garbled words and a dozen pinpricks of light appeared in front of Scorpius and flew around his head like annoying gnats.  
           “Wh-what is that?” asked Scorpius fearfully. Grandfather had been so fast Scorpius hadn’t even seen him draw his wand.  
           _“Lie_ to me again and you shall find out,” Grandfather threatened. “There are footprints leading down to the cellar; _footprints_ inside a room that should be locked. “Open it!” he ordered again.  
           “I can, but not now, not while you’re here!” Scorpius admitted reluctantly while staring apprehensively at the bright specks flying about his face.  
           The pinpricks of light seemed to dim, almost, but not quite vanishing from sight. “So, you’ve been using my brownies!” concluded Grandfather aloud. “Creative, but not very skilled…” he added in a not-so-angry voice without waiting for Scorpius to reply. Grandfather pointed his wand at the door lock. In a moment Scorpius heard the tumblers move and saw the knob turn. “Open it!” he commanded again.  
           Fearfully Scorpius reached out and pushed open the door. A blast of cold musty air filled with the stench of, Scorpius didn’t know what, but it was foul, hit Scorpius in the face.   He coughed instinctively and tried to fan the air away from his face.  
           “Do you know why I keep doors locked,” Grandfather asked in a conversational voice while Scorpius held his breath and stared at the contents of the room. The place was huge looking much larger in the inside than any room ought normally to have been. The size was probably supplemented with an extendable charm of some sort. Huge sheets of cobwebs hung down from higher surfaces and drifted back and forth like curtains. A burnished hardwood four-poster bed sat in one corner. It was mostly obscured by cobwebs, but Scorpius could see beyond what appeared to be a portrait of someone hooded hanging on the wall over the head of the bed.  
           “Uh, because you don’t want others in them?” answered Scorpius cautiously between tiny gasps of air. The walls were covered with paintings and portraits; many of the people in the portraits turned in his direction and began speaking at once so Scorpius could understand none of them. All kinds of furniture filled the room each piece was covered with what appeared to be a heavy layer of dust. Some pieces were heavy and thick and others seemed light and delicate. Beneath the dust and grime Scorpius could see that some were painted bright colours; others were left in wood tones. Nothing matched.  
            “Yes,” agreed his grandfather ignoring the cacophony of sound emanating from the room. “But since you have found a way into places where you do not belong then it is time you learned how to properly assess what you find within.”  
           “Assess?” questioned Scorpius.  
           “Assess,” confirmed his grandfather. _“Silence!”_ he ordered suddenly directing his attention to the portraits in the room. The room became silent. Grandfather continued, “Your education seems to be lacking in that area…”  
           “My education is just fine!” assured Scorpius defiantly.  
           “You let a very valuable hand crafted by the _Dark Lord_ himself leave the premise!” retorted Grandfather angrily.  
           “I never!” denied Scorpius automatically. Tiny stars seemed brighten and float in front of his eyes as he spoke.  
           “Do you mean to say Richards _took_ that hand _without_ your knowledge or consent?” asked Grandfather dangerously.  
           “Uh, no,” admitted Scorpius reluctantly. Somehow it suddenly seemed worse to claim it was stolen than taken with his knowledge… “That hand was always at Hogwarts!” Scorpius suddenly stated repeating the story reported in the _Prophet!_ “McGonagall said so!” Scarcely had he finished speaking when Scorpius felt what seemed like a thousand pinpricks explode into his face and hands; he screamed in surprise and pain and his body felt as if it were on fire.   Abruptly the pain ended. Scorpius found himself on his knees gasping for breath. He saw the pinpricks of light swirling angrily about him like angry bees.  
           “That was a _lie_ I fed McGonagall to keep you out of Azkaban!” hissed grandfather angrily. “Don’t you know the penalty for possessing and using items of _Dark_ magic?”  
           “But, we didn’t know it was dark!” protested Scorpius.  
           “You should have! Anything that moves on its own has the _potential_ of darkness and should be treated accordingly,” Grandfather stated sternly. “Your schooling should have taught you that much! That hand was _priceless_! You should have brought it to me not taken it to school! It could have been sold at considerable profit or its powers explored and used to further our interests… Instead the hand was treated as a Weasley curio, its powers wasted on schoolboy pranks and I was forced to destroy it to prevent charges from being filed. You _owe_ me!” Grandfather added angrily. “And now it’s time to _pay!”_  
           “Uh, how?” asked Scorpius apprehensively.  
           “You’re going to clean this room,” answered Grandfather.  
           “No! That’s servant’s work!” Scorpius protested angrily. “When my father finds out what you’re making me do…”  
           “Your father knows exactly what I am doing and why,” responded Grandfather coldly. “Did you think that little trip to Pilkington’s Ball went unnoticed?”  
           Scorpius gulped. No one had mentioned that before; he'd thought they’d forgotten, if they’d ever known…  
           “You looked like _fools,”_ Grandfather said with disgust. “Bad enough you interrupted an event intended to honour _me_ but you marched about in those phony costumes trying to recreate what your tiny mind could not even begin to comprehend! I would have laughed out loud had it not been so serious—In another moment the aurors would have taken you _down_ , not just disarmed you. You embarrassed us all with your childish antics! And now you shall clean out this room in repayment. You shall not return to your house until you have cleaned every bit of this room, _you_ not the brownies.  
           “Everything?” Scorpius stalled in dismay. There were a lot of things in the room.  
           “Everything!” came the reply.  
           “Okay,” agreed Scorpius reluctantly. “I’ll start tomorrow.” No matter what Grandfather said, Scorpius intended to find a way to get the brownies to do it for him.  
           “Today,” said grandfather calmly.  
           “If you wish,” Scorpius agreed reluctantly. “There’s a lot of stuff. Why don’t you read the paper while I work…” Scorpius suggested. He’d put the brownies to work as soon as Grandfather left. He looked expectantly at his grandfather. But his grandfather gave no indication of leaving. “I said I’d do it,” said Scorpius angrily. “You don’t have to stick around to watch!”  
           “No, I don’t,” agreed his grandfather evenly. “But I will…”  
           Scorpius rolled his eyes in frustration. Seeing no alternative, he pointed his wand at the nearest piece of furniture, an old fashioned desk that closed up, and said, _“Ter—”_  
           Suddenly Grandfather’s wand smacked sharply down on Scorpius’s wrist interrupting the spell. “Not so fast,” he said. “This was Pettigrew’s room.”  
           “Pettigrew’s?” questioned Scorpius in surprise while rubbing his wrist. “Like the guy whose hand was in the cellar?”  
           “Yes.”  
           Scorpius wondered why Pettigrew would have a room in Grandfather’s mansion but decided against asking.  
           “Pettigrew was vermin beneath our feet,” Grandfather stated, his lips curling into a sneer as he spoke. “He catered to the Dark Lord’s every need like a common house elf,” Grandfather continued with obvious disgust. “But in here he was the lord. In _here_ he placed every item he had confiscated from those foolish enough to stand in the Dark Lord’s way. Or not,” Grandfather concluded thoughtfully. “I never bothered to find out. I was interested in nothing of Pettigrew’s. But it is a good place for you to learn how to distinguish the difference in things of value.”  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes. Though vermin, Pettigrew was not unskilled and he knew we all hated him. He would have protected his _treasures_ as best he could from theft or destruction. For that reason, you need to approach his room cautiously. Start with a simple spell designed to reveal traps and spells. Use it on the door frame first.”  
           “Yes, sir, except, uh, I don’t know any,” Scorpius confessed.  
           “Of course not,” replied Grandfather dryly. “That kind of spell is taught to the aurors… But you don’t need to be an auror to learn such things. I shall teach you some basic revealing spells. But _you_ shall be the one using them on this room.”  
           “Yes, sir.” Scorpius brightened at the prospect of learning some auror spells. Perhaps a summer with Grandfather would not be so bad… “Uh, what do I do if I find something?” questioned Scorpius.  
           “Stand back quickly,” answered Grandfather.  
           “Huh?”  
           “I would expect nothing less than something very … _lethal_ … out of Pettigrew…”

**********

          “You want me to go to Richards and ask for a job?” questioned Roland DeWitt in disbelief. “Seriously?”  
           Wizard Dean Thomas, head of Magical Law Enforcement, mentally rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and answered. “Seriously.”  
           “Is that an order?” Roland persisted.  
           Dean took a moment to think about it. “Yes,” he sighed. “If I must.”  
           “Why?”  
           Why indeed? Dean looked down at his desk and shuffled some papers while he organized his thoughts. Then he looked up directly at Roland. “I may have … forgotten … about Sir,” he began carefully while watching Roland closely for a reaction of any sort. Harry wouldn’t say, but Dean was certain what had happened to Sir had been a Hufflepuff operation and if he hadn’t actually been involved, Dean was positive Roland knew what had gone on… No reaction. _Damn_. Oh, well, maybe that was for the best. “But I haven’t forgotten about Witch Umbridge…” Dean continued. “Now, if she goes anywhere in London it’ll be to visit that store Richards is setting up; if she contacts anyone it’ll be someone who goes to that store. Working there will place you in position to eavesdrop on Slytherin conversations and learn more about her whereabouts.”  
           “Do you have any idea what Richards is expecting of his employees?” protested Roland.  
           “Kowtowing to Slytherins on a regular basis, kind of like what Rupert Shunpike does for the Sidewinder Express, yeah, I have a good idea,” admitted Dean with distaste. “That’s why I’m talking to you. No Gryffindor could last long in a job “bowing” to _Slytherins_. I could ask a Ravenclaw auror, but no one would believe a Ravenclaw would ever take that kind of job without an ulterior motive. You, however, are a Hufflepuff,” continued Dean. “The Slytherins already have a low opinion of Hufflepuffs. They’ll think nothing of you being an employee of Richards. Behave as the Slytherins expect and they’ll talk in front of you as if you don’t exist.  
           “But what if I get fired?”  
           _“Don’t_ get fired!” Dean ordered.  
           “Seriously? That’s like the first thing every Slytherin demands the moment he imagines he’s been slighted. Who do you think Richards would believe?”  
           “Find a way,” insisted Dean. “At least until we catch Umbridge,” he amended. “This is more important than some slighted feelings. Paige Crowley will be at that store,” Dean reminded. “Or next to it,” he amended as the set-up permitted clients to visit Mrs. Crowley privately without going into Tom’s store. “She is out in the open and is a prime target for either revenge or recruitment by Umbridge using another _Imperius Curse_. Umbridge does not know Ms. Crowley is now an auror; she could get Ms. Crowley killed without meaning to… You can do this, Mr. DeWitt,” Dean added encouragingly. “You were marvelous pretending to be a Muggle cleaner last year and you can do this too. Mrs. Crowley is one of us now and she needs your support.”  
           “Yes, sir,” agreed Roland reluctantly.  
           “Thank-you,” and Dean breathed a mental sigh of relief. Despite being a Slytherin, Paige _was_ one of them and he did not want to lose her. However, Roland had a point. Dean had seen numerous irate Slytherins demanding the instant dismissal of an employee. Dean made a mental note to have a word with Paige about keeping Roland employed. After all, it was in her best interest...

**********

 _“Congratulations! Best wishes, Holly”_  
           Mrs. Paige Crowley re-rolled the message and looked curiously at the small green canvas bag in front of her adorned with a single white bow.    
           “I’m back!” announced Tom cheerfully as he opened the door and entered the room.  
           “How was your day?” asked Paige setting the bag down on the table and rising to greet her husband.  
           “Pretty good,” answered Tom. “Got some new customers,” he told her. “They were favorably impressed, bought a few things and I know they’ll be back. Had to fire DeWitt again, though,” he added in a regretful voice.  
           “Oh?”  
           “Yes, the Goyle girl thought he was looking _down_ on her,” Tom informed. “Well, he was,” Tom agreed. “DeWitt’s half a meter taller than her! Rather hard to _not_ look down on her.”  
           “So what did you do?”  
           “Fired him, of course,” answered Tom promptly. “Then I charged the Goyles another galleon for “Management Inconvenience” and put DeWitt back to work after the Goyles left.”  
           “What will you say when the Goyles return?”  
            “If they ask, I’ll say what I’ve said the last two times I fired him, that DeWitt got down on his knees and _begged_ for his job back; I really should be more stern,” Tom added rolling his eyes up piously, “but DeWitt promised to do better and good help is soooo hard to find…” Paige knew DeWitt would never “beg” for anything but the customers didn’t; DeWitt was also under strict instructions to never contradict Tom or Paige on employment or business matters. “It’s a good thing you came up with a “ten-minute” _fire_!” Tom added approvingly. “Otherwise I’d be constantly looking for replacements! I had no idea how often we used “firing the help” to make a statement.”  
           “Mmmm,” murmured Paige with satisfaction. No employee was permanently fired unless both _she_ and Tom fired the person and that was not likely to happen any time soon. DeWitt was scrupulously honest and surprisingly observant, both very useful traits in shop employees. DeWitt had already noticed several instances of shoplifting. Rather than creating a scene, he had slipped the list of pilfered items to Tom who quietly added the cost onto the final bill of the responsible customer or the customer’s parents. Only one customer noticed and disputed the charges: “It’s under your hat, mum,” DeWitt replied politely. “And a beautiful hat it is,” he added in an appreciative voice. “Wonderful spell work. No one would ever suspect it is fitted with an _extendable_ charm…” The customer paid without further comment.  
            Oh, Pilkington dropped by and wondered if he could borrow Anthony for the next few days; he has a trial he has to prepare for. I told him “yes,” of course.”  
           “Of course,” agreed Paige.  
           Anthony had resisted when Paige first suggested he readily admit to his activities off campus including the Ball and in the Forbidden Woods.  
           “You’ve got to be kidding!” protested Anthony. “She’ll be furious!”  
           “Of course she will!” agreed Paige. “But it’s all old news. She’ll be relieved to have a name, though. You need McGonagall,” Paige insisted. “Everything you did outside of Hogwarts is subject to Ministry law. McGonagall can’t protect you if she doesn’t know what she is protecting you from.”  
           “And why would she protect me?”  
           “McGonagall protects _all_ her students, while they are students. You might offer to assist her with her duties when school is in session next year as a way to atone...”  
           “What!? Never!”  
           “Assistant to the Headmistress,” murmured Paige softly. “That’s more prestigious than being a mere … prefect…” Anthony had been extremely disappointed when he hadn’t been named prefect after Tom had left Hogwarts. So Anthony had apologized to McGonagall. Much to his surprise, Anthony’s apology was received well as were his apologies to Thomas and Pilkington. Thomas, upon learning Anthony would be working for McGonagall in the fall, had decided no further restitution or punishment was needed… Anthony agreed to work for Pilkington two days a week and Tom three. In the evenings and on the weekends, Paige tutored Anthony for the O.W.L.S. retest that was scheduled for the end of July. The arrangement worked well. Working for Pilkington gave Anthony instant stature around Diagon Alley and Anthony used the interpersonal skills he had gained from Paige and observing Pilkington to secure deals for the supplies Tom wanted. Tom was ecstatic and Anthony was too busy to meddle with dark items.  
           “What’s that?” asked Tom noting the bag on the table.  
           “It’s something from Wycliff,” answered Paige.  
           “Wycliff?” questioned Tom in surprise. “Why would she send us anything? Is it a payment?”  
           “No, it appears to be a gift.”  
           “A wedding gift? For us?”  
           “Perhaps,” answered Paige though in truth the accompanying note had been addressed only to her.  
           “So, what is it?”  
           Paige removed the bow from the bag and set it on the nearby table. Then she opened the bag and peered within. “It’s extendable,” she announced recognizing the peculiar darkness that came within an extendable bag.  
           “Really?” questioned Tom. “That’s rather pricey. What’s in it?”  
           Paige reached in and took a grip on the polished strip of wood she saw within and began to pull. It felt like a frame attached to a canvas and was rather heavy. “Hold the bag for me would you,” Paige instructed. She shifted the bag to Tom’s hands and continued to pull.  
           “A portrait?” exclaimed Tom in surprise when she had finished. “Why would she send us a portrait?”  
           “It does seem unusual,” answered Paige in a neutral voice as she viewed the familiar image with black eyes and stringy black hair hanging over the face. “But then, Wycliff is rather unusual.”  
           “Do you know who he is?” questioned Tom. “It’s rather grim but he looks familiar…”  
           “That’s Snape,” answered Paige. “I’ve seen his portrait on the wall in McGonagall’s office at Hogwarts.”  
           “Is it? A Headmaster?” questioned Tom with interest. “Perhaps it’s a Living Portrait! Can you speak?” Tom eagerly asked the frozen figure on the canvas. There was no response. “Figures,” replied Tom in disappointment. “Where would Wycliff get a hold of a Living Portrait anyway?” he concluded while staring into the piercing black eyes. “But if it’s not living, why bother to send it to us?”  
           “Snape was a Slytherin…” began Paige thoughtfully. “And I believe he used to be the Potions Professor before he became Headmaster.”  
           “Was he? Then I guess there is some sort of logic in sending it to you. What shall we do with it? Hang it up in some corner or put it back in the bag? I kind of like the bag, though,” he added hopefully.  
           “Take the bag,” suggested Paige. “I’ll find someplace to put the portrait.”  
           “Great!” said Tom cheerfully. He grabbed the bag and left the room.  
           Paige studied the portrait closely. “You are _not_ the portrait Wycliff retrieved from Sir,” she decided aloud. The frame wasn’t the same. “Nor are you the one that hangs at Hogwarts…” she added knowing there was no way Wycliff could have gotten a hold of that one. The portrait did not respond.  “There was a _third?”_  
           The figure in the portrait shifted and the head turned to look at Paige. _“Obviously,”_ he said dryly. “And I have been instructed to tell you that you are under no obligation to hang me in some … corner…” he sneered as he said the word. Tom’s comments clearly had not set well with him. “Phineas informs me that there is space in the hall next to him where I can hang… No offense will be taken should you wish to send me there…”  
           Paige blinked. _Phineas?_ “You mean at the Black Mansion?” she questioned. Potter may live there but it was still the Black Family Mansion. Perhaps there were more Phineas’ out there but besides the one in the Headmaster’s office, Paige knew of only one Phineas portrait and it hung in the Black Mansion.  
           Snape’s lip curled up in obvious displeasure, “Yes.”  
           “And Potter agreed?” she questioned in disbelief. Though Potter had claimed Snape had assisted Dumbledore, the antagonism that had existed between Potter and the Headmaster who supposedly killed Dumbledore was common knowledge. That he would permit a portrait of Snape to hang in his home was surprising to say the least.  
           “He did not … _dis_ agree…” answered the portrait stiffly.  
           _“No,”_ thought Paige suddenly. _“He wouldn’t, not if she wanted it…”_ Wycliff seemed to exert considerable influence over Potter.  
           Paige and Tom were still starting out; their flat was small and space was limited but Paige was reluctant to condemn any proper Slytherin portrait to reside in a house full of Gryffindors. “There is space on the wall in my potion mixing room,” Paige said aloud. The lighting was poor but he _was_ a potions professor, perhaps he wouldn’t mind… “Would you find that location acceptable?”  
           “Yes,” replied the portrait simply.

 


	43. Chapter 43

          Holly Wycliff lounged in the living room of her home watching the tube. Sasha, now visible, curled up on Holly’s lap and kneaded contentedly on Holly’s leg. With one hand Holly absently stroked Sasha’s body while using the other to sip a soda—not iced or sweaty. It wasn’t quite as good as a chilled soda but eminently safer. Sir’s journal revealed that the soda bottle he had given Holly had been covered with something called Lunacy. The plan was to insure Holly feared the goblins and the wizard world so she would see him as the only source of safety making her more dependent upon him. The plan had backfired. Vernon sat nearby reading the newspaper scanning the headlines and looking through the “Help Wanted” ads for computer related work.  
           Given what had happened last year, father had decided to bypass the traditional summer vacation and stay home making up for the time he missed at work last year. The moment Vernon heard that, he put up signs advertising his computer repair abilities and started making plans with Miranda. Beyond catching up on Tang Soo Doo and advancing up a stripe or two with her belt Holly hadn’t yet made any formal summer plans...  
           “Hey, Holly, you’re in the paper!” announced Vernon suddenly.  
           “What?” Tube forgotten, Holly immediately came over to Vernon’s side. “Let me see that!” Holly exclaimed and she snatched the paper from Vernon’s grasp. Sure enough, there was a sketch of a girl with beaded braids in the paper that looked very much like herself!!! The caption read: “Reward!” And beneath the sketch was: “Do you know this girl or where she is? Call -------” and a number followed…

**********

          The first strands of Vivaldi’s Springtime rang out. Gregory A. Smythe reached over and picked up his cellphone. Looking at it he noted it was from an unfamiliar number. He opened the phone. “Hello?”  
           “How dare you plaster my face all over the newspaper!” raged a familiar female voice on the other end.  
           “How else was I supposed to find you?” replied Greg cheerfully. “That name you left me was a phony!”  
           “That’s because I didn’t want to be found! Now remove that ad today!!!”  
           “Of course!” agreed Greg readily. It had done its job. It has flushed out the elusive Jane Smith. Weird thing about her: father not only didn’t know her real name or address, but there weren’t any files on her at Meadowsgate nor did the detectives father hired have a file or any paperwork on her despite remembering having hunted for her. All Greg had left to remind him of Jane Smith was a grainy cell phone photo he had drunkenly taken after the accident before he realized how hurt she really was. He had taken that photo to a friend to make a more recognizable drawing. “Dinner!” Greg added aloud.  
           “What?”  
           “Dinner. I still owe you a dinner and I’d like to pay up.”  
           “You owe me nothing and I’d like to be left alone!”  
           “And I have two tickets to the London Philharmonic Symphony Orchestra,” Greg continued enticingly. He didn’t actually have any yet, but would get some immediately if this worked out.  
           “The orchestra?”  
           “Yes. Front row seats,” he informed her confident there were some left; if not, father could call in a favor or two to get some. “And frankly I don’t know anyone else who is even remotely interested in going to a classical concert. Heavy metal or punk rock, maybe, but not classical. They’re playing pieces by Beethoven, Wagner, Schubert, Berlioz, Debussy, and Vivoldi,” Greg added informatively.  
           “That’s Romantic, not Classical,” corrected Jane.  
           “Even better,” approved Greg. He had known that too, but thought calling them “Romantic” composers might sound a bit forward… “See, you know this stuff. Who better? Lookit—School’s out,” (at least he hoped hers was…) “I’m in Britain; you’re in Britain. Why not?”  
           “Um, I’d have to ask my father first….”  
           “Of course. I’ll wait.”  
           “Uh, what day?”  
           “Saturday. I can pick you up at five and we can do a dinner and the concert afterwards…”  
           “Pick me up?”  
           “Course!”  
           “As in _you’re_ driving?”  
           “Uh, yeah.”  
           “No way. It’ll be hard enough to convince my father to let me go but he’ll definitely say “no,” if he thinks you’ll be driving. He still hasn’t forgiven you for last time…”  
           Greg could feel his face flushing with the memory of that time, nightmare, more accurately. “Oh, well, I can borrow father’s chauffeur for the night…” he suggested.  
           “That, he might buy,” answered the girl. “Let me get back to you.”  
           “Promise?”  
           “Yes.”  
           “When?” persisted Greg.  
           “By tomorrow. Unless that horrible picture is still in the paper.”  
           “Done.”

**********

          “Well?” demanded Vernon worriedly when Holly Wycliff got off the phone. The two of them were in the mall where Vernon had gotten Holly the cheapest disposable cell phone available to make the call. He wanted nothing traceable back to the family.  
           “I think I’ve got a date…” she answered with a feeling of disbelief. She hadn’t really taken Greg seriously back in December; he was just relieved she was still alive and grateful she had taken the time to let him know…  
           “A date? With whom? That drunk?”  
           “He’s not a drunk,” disagreed Holly. “He’s been in rehab. That means he’s recovered.”  
           “Doesn’t matter,” replied Vernon matter-of-factly. “He’s still a drunk with a hit-and-run record as far as I’m concerned. Father too. Father’ll never give his consent.”  
           “But he’s not a wizard,” replied Holly. “That should count for something. And he’s promised to use a chauffeur instead of driving…”  
           “So, what are you going to do, tell that rich kid your name and address so he can pick you up?”  
           Holly sighed and rolled her eyes. To Vernon, Greg would always be “that rich kid who ran you over and got away with it!” Never mind that what he had done had most likely saved Holly’s life and had certainly kept her away from Sir… Still, Vernon had a point, and because of Sir, Holly’s paranoia still lingered. “Um, I know, I can ask Stan to drive us,” she told Vernon brightly. “Remember that limo he has?”  
           “Rupert,” decided Vernon firmly. “I know him and he’ll make sure that rich kid doesn’t try to slip you a ruffy or something…” Vernon had a very low opinion of anyone wealthy after his time at Smeltings.  
           Holly rolled her eyes again. As if any Muggle with emotions could slip her anything without her knowing… “Rupert,” she agreed aloud. Now, if only she could convince father…

**********

          “That was the best concert ever!” exclaimed Holly Wycliff as she and Greg Smythe rose from their seats. And it had been. Most of the people attending had enjoyed the concert too. Holly discovered she could block out the bored and impatient emotions and immerse herself in the bliss of the remainders. It had been quite an experience.  
          Getting permission had been difficult, but not impossible. In the end Holly had to remind father she had a red belt in Tang Soo Doo and, and, as an Empath, would know immediately should Greg even consider something underhanded. Vernon chipped in informing father that the chauffeur had helped capture Sir and would do the same to “that rich kid” if necessary…  
           “Yes, it was good,” agreed Greg. “Le Nozze de Figero is playing at the opera house next Saturday,” he added. “Want to come?”  
           “Opera?” questioned Holly hesitantly. Sure there were several pieces in Greg’s Ipod that came with the heading “Le Nozze de Figero” but she hadn’t realized it was opera…  
           “That’s right,” agreed Greg.  
           “I suppose…” She remembered mum and father had gone to an opera once; they weren’t impressed; it hadn’t been in English…  
           “Terrific! I’ll pick you up at five—uh, can I pick you up this time, Jane?” he amended. Greg hadn’t been too happy when Holly insisted on providing the chauffeur and ride, but it was sort of a “take it or leave it” situation. Greg’s father, on the other hand had been very impressed by the limo.  
           Holly sighed. “My name’s not Jane, you know.”  
           “Yeah, I figured.”  
           “And I know you’re uncomfortable with me providing the ride,” she began, “but I really don’t want anyone to know where I live…”  
           “Or your real name?” questioned Greg softly. His disappointed emotions were reflected in the expression in Greg’s face.  
           “If you knew my real name then you could figure out where I lived,” answered Holly. “This isn’t going to work, Greg,” she added. “I have good reasons for not wanting you to know that stuff but it doesn’t feel honest and it isn’t fair to you. You think I’m this mysterious person who fell out of nowhere in front of you. Would you nearly as interested if you thought I was a plain Jane from suburbs?”  
           “You’re no plain Jane,” argued Greg. “That’s a very pricey limo and you know the PM.”  
           “That’s my cousin,” corrected Holly. “And he doesn’t know the PM but he knows someone who does…”  
           “Oh.”  
           And Holly sensed an immediate spike in interest. “That’s the problem,” she told Greg. “I kind of have trust issues. I don’t know whether you’re interested in me or just learning about me… And until I figure that out, I really don’t think we should be seeing each other…”  
           “And how will you figure it out without at least one more date?” countered Greg.  
           Holly shrugged.  
           “Lookit,” continued Greg. “Lots of people use different names in different situations—even me!”  
           “You?” whispered Holly in surprise.  
           “Me,” confirmed Greg, “or did you think I was holed up in Switzerland under my right name? So unless you are some pathological murderer on the run from the police I’m O.K. with the fake name bit. You aren’t are you?”  
           “Aren’t what?”  
           “Some pathological murderer on the run from the police?”  
           “Of course not,” laughed Holly.  
           “Terrific!” Greg positively oozed happiness. “And I don’t deny not knowing your real name or background adds spice to the evening, but I already know all I need to know about you.”  
           “You do?”  
           “Yeah. You’re beautiful, have incredibly green eyes, are good company during a meal and like the same kind of music as me.”  
           “Oh,” whispered Holly feeling suddenly very self-conscience. She could feel total sincerity behind Greg’s words.  
           “And it may be only your cousin who knows someone who knows the PM,” Greg added, “but I really am grateful for that. You see, father has been watching me like a hawk ever since I got back—him or the servants” he amended. “All my friends are into drink or drugs and he won’t let me go out with them. This is the first time I’ve done anything even remotely social without everyone watching to make sure I don’t get a drink… And I think father only agreed because he was afraid he’d offend that mysterious cousin of yours who knows someone who knows the PM... So please say “yes,” to next Saturday or I’ll be stuck at home with nothing to look forward to and nothing to do but wish I were somewhere else…”  
           It wasn’t some line. Holly could sense both sincerity and desperation behind Greg’s words. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess, “yes,” smiled Holly. Dinner out again and more music, even if it was an opera, did sound fun… She could get Vernon to look it up a translation for her beforehand so she’d know what was going on.  
           “Thanks!” The relief in Greg’s whole body was unmistakable. “Um, are you O.K. with Indian food?”  
           “What?”  
           “I didn’t know what kind of foods you liked so I picked a restaurant that served all sorts of basic stuff tonight. But I know this really great Indian restaurant that’s right next to the Opera House. Would you like to try some Indian food?  
           “I’d love it!” The prospect of a Mango Lassi and some naan immediately set Holly’s mouth watering. An Indian dinner and a show—yes! This could be good! After that, well, anything was possible…

**The end…**

**********

**Epilogue**

          Mrs. Paige Brenna Crowley sat in her potions room mixing up some Draught of Living Death. It was not a potion usually used by a Potions Mistress, but Paige had discovered that a single drop of the Draught added to her regular sleeping potions immensely improved their performance. Paige carefully chopped up the last of her valerian roots. Anthony was out fetching more to replace her supplies. She had given Anthony exactly the amount needed for the quantity of valerian she wanted and told Anthony he could keep the change if he could cut a better deal. Anthony had gotten to be quite a negotiator. Of course that was after some of the merchants had given Anthony a severe case of acne with their “shoplifting” hex. Anthony had had to apologize and repay triple the value of the items he’d taken before the proprietors would lift their hexes. Paige began cutting the sopophorus bean.  
           “That would work better if you crushed it with a silver dagger,” came the dry voice of the portrait hanging on the wall.  
           “Oh, yes, of course,” murmured Paige and immediately fetched a dagger from her drawer of silver supplies. “Thank-you.” Crushing with a silver dagger was one of the Half-blood Prince revisions that came out of the new editions. Paige had read the revised recipes, of course; some of them she already knew. The revisions all looked much more efficient, but sometimes she forgot and used the old recipes.  
           She flattened the bean and scooped all the resulting juice into her cauldron. The potion immediately turned the desired shade of lilac. Paige reached for her spoon while thinking how things had changed in the potions class after the Half-blood Prince revisions. She’d been the only person in her class able to make a proper Draught of Living Death potion and Anthony reported he’d heard that all the sixth year students in Potions had made it successfully this year... Paige looked thoughtfully up at the face in the frame, at the black eyes partly obscured by stringy black hair. “Do you know who the Half-Blood Prince is?” she asked abruptly. Borage claimed to have hunted everywhere but a lone painting in the Headmaster’s office could have been easily overlooked.  
           The portrait drew himself up to his full height, as much as possible in a frame. His black eyes flashed fire as he spoke. “I shall tell you exactly what I told the dolts from Borage Publications when they asked me the same question. “I never met or taught anyone who called himself the Half-blood Prince!”  
           “My apologies,” said Paige in a sincere voice and added, “Borage didn’t look smart enough to think to ask you.”  
           “McGonagall asked; Slughorn asked; Borage asked; his editor asked and his solicitor asked!” retorted the portrait angrily.  
           “Then I am truly sorry to have disturbed you,” Paige said sincerely. “I will not mention it again,” she promised. “Solicitor?” she questioned curiously.  
           “Something about ownership and copyright laws,” he replied coldly.  
           “Of course,” replied Paige as she slipped her spoon in the cauldron and began stirring counterclockwise. Everyone said the Half-blood Prince was surely dead, perhaps a victim of the Dark Lord or else he would have placed his revisions in his own book and out-sold Borage once he left Hogwarts. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t left heirs or relatives about to claim their share of the revised edition profits… Paige often wondered if, besides modifying textbooks, the Half-blood Prince had written a book of his own potions—had left behind a treasure out there somewhere waiting to be found…  
           There was still a sizable reward for information leading to the identification of the Half-blood Prince so Paige had never shared with anyone her own views about the Half-blood Prince. Paige had made corrective notes all over her own potion books but she never had any intention of rewriting or selling her revisions when she left Hogwarts. Paige had no desire to lower the fine craft of potion-making to the level of mindless mass production. However, she’d taken her book along with her for future reference. The Potter boy claimed he had found the books with revisions written in them at Hogwarts. That meant the Half-blood Prince, whomever he was, had never left Hogwarts, not alive anyway. Unfortunately, the only student Paige could find who had died at Hogwarts was Myrtle Elizabeth Warren. Myrtle was a Ravenclaw who had died at far too young an age to have made the revisions in the Advanced Potions book; she was definitely not the Prince.  
           “You should counter-stir it now,” the Portrait’s voice said again interrupting her thoughts, “unless you want to be there all day…”  
           “Counter-stir! Right!” replied Paige as she swiftly reversed the direction of her spoon. She stirred once and the potion immediately turned pale pink. Paige again reversed the direction and went back to stirring counterclockwise. _“Wait a minute!”_ she thought stopping mid-stir. _“Both the crushing the sopophorus bean and the counter-stir were Half-blood Prince modifications! The Half-blood Prince revised Potion books only came out two years ago! Snape had been long dead then.”_  
           “Perhaps you should continue stirring if you don’t want your potion ruined,” came the Headmaster’s voice interrupting Paige’s thoughts.  
           “Yes, of course,” replied Paige and resumed stirring. _“How did the portrait know the revised directions? Of course!”_ Paige told herself, _“Borage must have had read the revisions to him in the hopes Snape would recognize the author…”_  
           Six, seven! Paige counter-stirred once and then reversed for seven more stirs. One, two,…  
           Then again, there was another explanation for Headmaster Snape knowing the revisions, but that was impossible! Snape couldn’t actually _be_ the Half-blood Prince could he? The idea was truly preposterous! Borage had hired genealogists to search the records to find anyone of royal linage who might be this “Half-blood Prince.” The Headmaster’s name would have turned up. Besides, Headmaster Snape had been a Potions Professor. No potion genus would take such a demeaning thankless job.  
           But Paige couldn’t dismiss the idea so easily. The Dark Lord had been no “Lord” through linage. He had been a “Lord” through actions and insisted others call him so accordingly. So maybe the Half-blood Prince wasn’t a “Prince” through linage. However, Paige had never heard of any story where Snape had looked or behaved in a “princely” way or insisted on being called a “prince.” In addition, the Snape Portrait had told McGonagall he didn’t know—Hogwarts Headmaster Portraits weren’t supposed to be able to lie to the current Headmaster (or Headmistress)… There was no logical reason to think Headmaster Snape was the Half-blood Prince except … he knew about the counter-stir…  
           Wait a minute! Snape had said he hadn’t “met or taught” anyone… That wouldn’t be a lie if he, himself, were the Half-blood Prince… Potter claimed Snape was secretly working for Dumbledore. Perhaps Dumbledore had persuaded Snape to take the lowly position of Potions Professor as part of the plan to defeat the Dark Lord…  
           Paige had difficulty keeping track of the seven stirs before a counter-stir while her mind whirled. How could she find out for sure? She couldn’t just ask him, not after promising to make no more references to the Half-blood Prince.  
           There had to be some other way to find out… Paige reviewed what she knew about the Headmaster. It wasn’t much. The Potter boy had chosen Snape’s image in the Memorial his first year lamenting his death and Wycliff liked Snape and spoke to him as if he was an old friend. Beyond that, Paige knew Severus Snape had been an unpopular Potions Professor and an equally unpopular Headmaster. He was also reputed to have been a Death Eater who somehow helped Dumbledore defeat the Dark Lord. When one knew as little as she, it was best to start at the beginning…  
           Paige placed a cork in the bottle and carefully labeled the outside including the date it was mixed. Then she took the bottle to the cupboard where she kept extra supplies. She opened the cupboard and placed the potion on the lowest shelf. Then she pulled out the one book on the upper shelf that had nothing to do with potions. It was an heirloom book that she had inherited from Aunt Ursula, very old and very valuable. Paige kept it with the potions as it was the safest place she knew. Both the cupboard and the room were kept locked when she was out and there were several curses, wards and hexes in place to keep her things safe in her absence.  
           It was a huge heavy book with a smooth snakeskin cover. It felt warm and alive to the touch. On the cover written in gold script was the single word “Lineage.” The pages within kept track of every pureblood witch and wizard of Great Britain and their offspring. When children were born to purebloods, their names and birthdates were magically added to the list. Paige had felt pride and delight when she found her own name within the pages of _Lineage._ She had felt frustration when she could not find the Dark Lord’s name… Aunt Ursula explained that “Dark Lord” was not his real name; that his real name was too fearful to repeat.  
           In Hogwarts, Paige learned the Dark Lord’s name was actually “Lord Voldemort.” She wondered why only Slytherins really seemed to fear to say the name. Except—Lord “Voldemort” was not to be found in _Lineage_ either… Paige did more research and learned that both Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore had referred to Lord Voldemort as “Tom Riddle...” That name wasn’t in _Lineage_ either, at least not under the name “Riddle.” Unwilling to believe the Dark Lord could be Mudblood, (their names did _not_ appear in the book) Paige poured over every page of _Lineage_ finally finding Tom Riddle’s name under that of Merope Gaunt making him wizard with a Muggle or Mudblood father, most likely named Riddle… That of course assumed that the Dark Lord had indeed once been named Tom Riddle and Paige had found nothing disputing that claim.  
           It astounded Paige to think that a wizard with questionable parentage should have attached so much importance to lineage—half-blood ancestry didn’t seem to have affected his wizard abilities at all. Why claim otherwise? Nor could she understand how the Dark Lord had achieved such a following on pureblood ideals. Hadn’t his followers realized he wasn’t “pure?” Paige’s Slytherin classmates maintained the Dark Lord was the greatest wizard ever, despite, as Lovegood serenely pointed out, having _lost._ The inconsistencies made Paige rethink her education. Despite what her family and friends said, perhaps it wasn’t all lies and half-truths fabricated by the victors. Perhaps the lies and half-truths were Slytherin delusions instead.  
           Rethinking was a decision Paige did not regret. The Slytherins at Hogwarts maintained the aurors were nearly non-existent, antiquated, withering away as an unnecessary profession. Paige learned otherwise. The power behind the Ministry actually belonged to the shadowy aurors and Paige was now one of them!  
           Paige opened the _Lineage_ book and rapidly found the “S” section. No Snape. That meant he was a half-blood! She would have to search the book page by page. It would take time but Paige would eventually find him unless Snape was a Mudblood and Paige seriously doubted that. Paige flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book... Nothing in the “A’s.” … Not the “B’s.” … Nothing in “C’s.” … Paige suppressed a sigh. Half-bloods were such a pain to look up. Abruptly Paige stopped her search. Instead, her fingers skipped through the pages and rapidly found the “P” section. Parkenson, Pavarti, Peaks, Potter, Prince… _PRINCE!_ **_PRINCE!!—_**

 

 _Eileen Prince: Son: Severus Snape –_ That would make Severus Snape “half” Snape and “half” Prince! A half-blood “Prince!”

_**The** … Half-blood Prince!!!_

         

          And Mrs. Paige Brenna Crowley … smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a wonderful mole cricket by Burke5 on Designs & Interfaces/Tattoo designs that provided the inspiration for Holly's Tattoo... I'm told there is a way to include artwork in the fan fiction but I haven't figured out how...


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